


Red Crescents

by nouseforaname



Series: Bad Habits [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Comfort/Angst, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-10-10 22:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nouseforaname/pseuds/nouseforaname
Summary: A series of drabbles themed around Betty's nervous habit of digging her nails into her palms, and Veronica's reactions every time it happens.Season One.





	1. Audition

A warm dizziness seeps into her brain as she pulls away from the kiss. Veronica lowers her hands to her hips and sucks in a breath as she turns to face Cheryl, who is scowling from her seat just a few feet away. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Betty sheepishly swiping at the lipstick smeared across her top lip, and she firmly purses her own lips together in an attempt to keep herself from smiling triumphantly.

Cheryl is spewing an insult of some sort, but Veronica is having difficulty paying attention. Her head is still swimming from that kiss - a kiss that was really supposed to be a last-ditch effort to impress Cheryl and her River Vixen cronies, but kisses like that aren’t supposed to leave you with a foggy mind and sweaty palms. 

To Veronica, a kiss is nothing more than attempt to get something she wanted. Her kisses were ammunition, not a sign of affection or desire. She only kissed when she knew it was going to work in her favour. Love? Relationships? She dabbled in them, but wasn’t particularly a fan. She enjoyed the chase - who doesn’t really - but once the hunt was over, so was her interest. In all honesty, she knew she was capable of committing to a serious relationship if she really wanted to…but that want never really came about, and so she never felt the need to put forth the effort.

So what makes this kiss so different? Veronica Lodge doesn’t do love at first sight. It just doesn’t work that way. Hell, she doesn’t even know if love even exists (Maybe she did once before, back in the day, but she’s been questioning a lot of things ever since the mess with her father started).

She kissed her own fair share of people back in New York - boys and girls - and none of them made her flinch or think twice. Betty was nice enough, sure, but she was a little too vanilla for Veronica’s tastes. Plus, they only just met…and honestly, she only decided to kiss her at that very minute because she figured a small town like Riverdale would flip upside down three times over at the sight of a girl kissing another girl. This place didn’t seem like it was very progressive (Its aesthetic practically screams “I was ripped directly from an episode of Leave it to Beaver”), at least not in comparison to Spence and New York, but Riverdale has been throwing her surprises left and right ever since she got here.

“Faux lesbian kissing”, as Cheryl Blossom had so subtly put it, was outdated and overdone - which was true, to be fair - but that was her trump card. Now what was she going to do? The last thing she wanted to do was to admit defeat on her first day as the new kid…and she promised Betty she’d help her get on the cheer squad.

It’s only when the redhead shifts to the “interview portion of our audition” that Veronica’s mind is forced to return to the present.

“Betty, how’s your sister doing?”

Veronica furrows her brow at the seemingly out-of-place question. The way Betty’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of her sister makes the brunette feel uncomfortable for some reason. She didn’t know Betty had a sister, then again…how long have they known each other? A day? Not even. That was barely enough time to talk about background stories and family lives.

Betty was bound to bring her up at some point, right? What was so urgently important about her sister that Cheryl felt the need to ask about her in the middle of an audition for a high school cheerleading squad?

“Um…Polly’s fine, thanks for asking.” There’s uncertainty in the blonde’s voice, and she’s nervously wringing her hands. Veronica briefly turns to glance at her new friend. There’s something wrong here, her conscious is telling her, but she can’t quite figure out what it is and she’s not sure if it’s her place to do so.

“Veronica, has Betty told you about her sister yet?” There’s a smug smirk spread wide across Cheryl’s mouth, and Veronica can feel the shame radiating from the blonde standing next to her. 

Veronica says no, and she sees something wake up in Cheryl’s eyes. Oh no. The remaining Blossom twin goads Betty into explaining Polly and Jason’s tragic relationship, and while the blonde attempts to tell the story Cheryl doesn’t hesitate to butt in to add her own two cents - about how things didn’t end well, how Jason was the reason why Polly went batshit and was sent to a group home. She tops her quips with a venomous simper that seems to slice into Betty like razors. It’s obvious what that smile means: Cheryl has Betty right where she wants her, backed into a corner.

Veronica isn’t directly looking at her, but she doesn’t miss a single movement from her peripheral vision. She eyes the way Betty’s brow furrows and the way her lips purse together. She notices Betty’s hands dropping to her sides, curling inwards into tight fists. She can hear the tremor in her voice. She can see how hard she’s trying to keep herself from shaking. Something inside Veronica begs to break for the other girl, but she keeps her composure, moving her hands up to cross her arms over her chest.

Cheryl’s still going at it, and Veronica can feel Betty inching closer to boiling point. Her fists are clenched together so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. Her blue, blue, blue eyes shift away from Cheryl’s face as they begin to glaze over with tears. An uncomfortably taut knot bunches itself up in Veronica’s chest and she twitches slightly. She wants to do something, anything at all, but she knows that’s what Cheryl wants. She wasn’t going to give the redhead the satisfaction.

“I just-“ 

Betty’s hands flex as she mumbles an apology, and when Veronica spots the bright red crescents bitten into her palms the knot in her chest magically vanishes and is replaced with something else - something angrier, something vicious. Freshly drawn blood glints on the tips of the blonde’s fingers; Veronica’s breath is caught in her throat and she feels an inferno beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach.

Betty Cooper - the sweet, thoughtful, selfless, all-around good girl and perfect student who was willing to brush over Hiram Lodge’s embezzlement scandal (Before Kevin ruined it by sticking his nose into places where it didn’t belong), who was willing to give Veronica a clean slate, a second chance, an opportunity to truly reinvent herself and start over, who was more than happy to be the first person to give her that opportunity - deserved so much better than this.

Betty Cooper does not deserve to be publicly shamed for something she doesn’t have control of. Betty Cooper does not deserve to be ripped to shreds at the expense of someone else’s already-fragile sense of self-worth (Cheryl, honey, you’re not fooling anyone). Betty Cooper does not deserve this kind of pain - actually, Betty Cooper doesn’t deserve any kind of pain.

So when Cheryl cheerfully welcomes Veronica to the River Vixens and spits a cold “Better luck next time” in Betty’s direction, the brunette decides that from now on, she’s going to make sure that Betty Cooper never gets hurt again.

If Betty couldn’t find it in herself to tear Cheryl a new one, like she had invited her to just moments earlier, Veronica was more than happy to do it for her.

And that’s exactly what she does.

She knows Cheryl wants this - for someone to bite so she can bite back twice as hard - but to hell with it. 

She doesn’t think things through, but it wasn’t like she had the time to do it anyway. She takes a few steps forward, and when she opens her mouth she unleashes a fury that she hasn’t felt since her time at Spence. “Old Veronica” comes back with a vengeance as she spews whatever she can think of - about being able to relate to her cold, “Head bitch in charge” demeanour, then something about becoming a reckoning, and another thing about her specialty being ice. She can’t remember everything she said word-for-word because they spill out of her so quickly she doesn’t have the time to retain anything - but the one thing she knows she said for sure was that her and Betty came as a package deal, and if Cheryl wanted one of them she had no choice but to take them both.

By the time she’s finished Cheryl’s eyes are glassy and her mouth is slightly agape. Veronica can feel her mouth twisting upwards in a victorious grin; she knows she won. She got what she wanted. 

Maybe that kiss wasn’t in vain after all.

When the redhead stubbornly agrees to accepting them both onto the squad the first thing Veronica does is swivel on her heel to face the blonde standing behind her. Betty’s eyes are nearly as wide as her mouth, and her arms are hanging listlessly by her sides. 

“We did it.” Veronica breaks the silence, stepping closer towards the taller of the two. “See? I told you I’d help you out.” Behind her, she can hear the legs of several chairs scraping across the floor; Cheryl and her Vixens were getting up to leave. She hoped it was in an angry huff.

Betty moves her lips in an attempt to speak, but there’s no sound. She shakes her head, sniffling once, and her eyes glaze over again. She looks like she wants to try talking again, but instead she reaches to take Veronica’s hands in hers. She mouths a silent “Thank you”, sniffling again. The gratefulness in her body language was loud enough to compensate for her lack of voice.

The brunette chuckles and squeezes the blonde’s hands back in response. Her palms briefly press against Betty’s and she holds back the urge to frown when she feels the half-moon indents on her skin. Was this a habit of hers? A part of her didn’t want to know the answer. Another part wondered if there was anything she could do to break said habit. 

“Don’t mention it.” Veronica replies with a wink. She lets go of one hand and gently tugs on the one she’s still holding onto. Her thumb brushes over the indents as she begins to make her way over to the change room. “Now, let’s get you in your new River Vixens uniform and show you off to Archie, shall we?”


	2. Closet

Veronica Lodge doesn’t lose.

Veronica Lodge _never_ loses.

So when she stumbled out of that closet with Archie trailing behind her, only to find out (From a very smug Cheryl Blossom) that Betty had left, the first thing she wanted to do was go straight home.

Because she never lost before, so she doesn’t know what else to do.

Wait…no. She _has_ lost before. That’s why she was stuck in this stupid town in the first place. Her father had been wrongfully (At least she hoped it was wrongfully) accused of embezzlement, her family had been cheated out of most of their money, her so-called friends back in New York abandoned her, and everything she knew and loved was taken away from her - yet, in comparison to what she was feeling _now,_ all of that was so insignificant and far away. _Why?_

Maybe it was because of her vow to reinvent herself - yeah, that had to be it. Veronica promised herself that she would attempt to be a better person once she started her new life in Riverdale, and it was working…at least for the first few hours. She made new friends, she knocked Cheryl down a peg or two, and she helped Betty get on the cheer squad. She was doing great.

Then she went into the closet with Archie Andrews.

At the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. If she didn’t agree to go in, Cheryl would’ve thought of another way to hurt Betty’s feelings. She didn’t really have a choice.

Okay, maybe she didn’t have to kiss Archie. That was one thing she would have changed. She found herself groaning inwardly as she replayed the scene in her head. There was no rhyme or reason for that kiss. There really wasn’t. She could just tell herself that the both of them got caught up in the moment, that they ran out of questions to ask each other and they just kissed for the sake of finding something to do, that they did it because there were only a couple minutes left and they needed to kill time somehow, but none of those excuses would bring Betty back.

_Betty. Betty Cooper._

She didn’t want to admit it (At least not for now), but there was something about that ponytailed, cardigan-clad, all-American, stereotypical small town, straight-out-of-a-Taylor-Swift-song girl that Veronica could not help but be captivated by. She felt it the moment she laid eyes on her that night when she walked into Pop’s, when she accidentally walked in on her and Archie trying to figure out their relationship (It might have been for the best, seeing as the both of them looked kind of awkward and it did not look like the conversation was taking a turn for the better). The instant she locked eyes with the blonde, Veronica knew they were meant to be in each other’s lives in some shape or form. She just _knew._

The girls Veronica surrounded herself with back at Spence were nothing like Betty. Spence girls wore Kate Spade and Jimmy Choo and talked about summers spent in Waikiki and Barcelona. Spence girls got cars and front-row concert tickets from insanely rich fathers _just because_. Spence girls smelled like Dior and Chanel (And tasted like poorly made whisky sours). Spence girls looked like Blair Waldorf and Cher Horowitz.

Betty Cooper, on the other hand, looked like she came straight of out a 1995 Sears catalogue and smelled like generic women’s drugstore body spray (And tasted like instant hot chocolate mix), but that didn’t really matter to Veronica. “Old Veronica” might’ve had something to say about it, but times have changed. In fact, Veronica really liked that Betty was the complete opposite of what she was used to. Isn’t there a cliché about opposites attracting? It had to be a cliché for a reason. Betty was everything Veronica wasn’t: Calm, composed, prepared, and a romantic at heart-

…Which brings us to why Veronica Lodge is currently collapsed across her mother’s lap with her eyes glazed over in unshed tears.

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, and the moment things go dark Betty’s palms fade into view. She can see the red half-moons simpering at her, teasing, _provoking_ her.

 _You failed,_ Those tiny red smiles were wordlessly cackling at her, _You failed, failed, you failed._

A part of her wondered how deep Betty’s nails dug in as she watched her new friend and the boy she loved enter that closet. She wondered how much blood she drew as Veronica stood on her tiptoes to meet Archie’s lips. She pictured Betty’s knuckles, white as snow, and the tendons underneath her skin shifting uneasily as her fingertips worked their way into her palms.

The mere possibility of being the reason why Betty is hurting herself makes Veronica’s stomach turn.

“Is everything okay?” She can barely hear her mother’s voice. She could feel Hermione’s fingers comb through her hair - a gesture that never failed to comfort her in the past, but it wasn’t working its magic tonight and she had no idea why. “Ronnie, what is it?”

“I screwed up.” She heard herself reply. It didn’t feel like she was the one speaking; it was almost like she was having an out of body experience. She could see herself resting on Hermione’s lap, and she could see her mother soothingly petting her hair. It was like she was watching a movie of her life. “I screwed up really bad tonight.” She watched her lips part in a part-laugh, part-scoff, part-sob. “I did the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do when we moved here, and that was to _not_ hurt someone. I ended up breaking that promise before the first week even _ended.”_

“Mija,” Her mother cooed, “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. I know it’s hard adjusting - it’s not quite what we’re used to-“

“Understatement of the year.”

Hermione’s expression was stern, but also amused. “Riverdale isn’t New York, and it won’t ever be New York. New York may have been bigger, and more exciting-“

“It also had better food-”

“Don’t hate on Pop’s. Their burgers are uncontested.”

“Sure, Mom - though I guess their onion rings are passable.”

“Anyways,” Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder, “What I’m trying to say is that Riverdale is a lot more forgiving than New York. You’ll be surprised at how understanding the people here can be. You’ll make good friends here - _real_ friends. Friends who’ll have your back no matter what.”

Veronica watched herself rise from her mother’s lap, shifting over so that she sat next to her. “But that’s the thing - I _did_ make friends. Good friends! They were willing to look past the whole mess going on with Daddy. They gave me a real, genuine chance to prove to them that I’m not just some rich bitch from the city.” Her chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “But I blew it, and now I’m not sure if I’ll be able to win their trust back.”

Hermione sat in a pensive silence for a moment. Veronica knew that look - she was thinking of a solution. She waited patiently, twiddling her thumbs for a few seconds until her mother’s voice caused her to look back up. “I’ve got an idea.”

She watched her own lips curl up in a grin. “You always do.”

“We’re going to have to dip into our savings a little bit, but from the way you’re describing things, this is an emergency.” Hermione’s grin matched her daughter’s. “Remember what I always used to tell you?”

“You tell me a lot of things, Mom.”

The elder Lodge rolled her eyes. “C’mon, you know what I’m talking about.”

It took a moment for it to register, but once it did Veronica’s eyes lit up. It’s a bit of a stretch, but it might just help win Betty back.

“There’s no wrong the right cupcake can’t fix?”

 

* * *

 

(It worked - for a moment. Just like her last plan.

_Fuck._

The triumphant look Betty flashed her before she allowed herself to be pulled away by Cheryl punched all sorts of holes through Veronica’s chest. It hurt a lot more than she expected.

She managed to catch a glimpse of Betty's palm just seconds before Cheryl's own palm covered it - those dark, crescent-shaped scabs were almost laughing at her.

She's sitting alone in the change room, sitting so low that her forehead's pressed against her thighs. Her hands are clasped in front, the fingers woven together so tightly because she knew if she relieved an ounce of restraint she might just start hitting something.

She’s trying to remember how to breathe.)


	3. Pep Rally

She blinked rapidly through the endless sheets of rain. The bright lights were causing Betty to see spots, and the blaring from the school band pulsated in her eardrums.

The pep rally wasn’t exactly peppy anymore with the weather, but everyone sang and danced through it anyway. Things were going great - the River Vixens pulled off their routine perfectly (Betty actually slipped on the wet grass a couple times, but no one seemed to notice), the Pussycats managed to liven the crowd despite the downpour, and everyone was on their feet when the Bulldogs burst through the paper barrier and made their way down the track - but things came to a momentary halt when Cheryl snapped out of nowhere and ran clear cut across the field back towards the school.

Veronica was the first to react, which surprised her. The brunette pushed away from the rest of the squad and chased after the redhead, and for some reason Betty felt compelled to follow her. Why was she even thinking of following Cheryl in the first place? Didn’t Veronica _hate_ Cheryl?

The rain was relentless, hammering down on Betty’s face and Vixen uniform as she jogged after the other two girls. She wrenched the doors to the school open and skidded to a stop, looking left and right. She caught a glimpse of Veronica’s dark hair just before it disappeared around the corner down the hall to her right, where the change rooms were.

When she scrambled into the girls’ change rooms, she nearly lost her footing.

Veronica was… _consoling_ Cheryl? The redhead was crying into the brunette’s shoulder. Betty could hear Veronica mumbling words of comfort as she rubbed Cheryl’s back.

Betty was always one to think things through. She _hated_ going into things blind. She was most comfortable when she had a plan laid out in front of her, when every possibility was visible for her to analyze and dissect. She liked knowing what her options were. She liked knowing what she signed up for.

This was _not_ one of her foreseen outcomes - then again the whole day had been pretty unpredictable.

Actually, _Veronica_ was the one who was unpredictable, and Betty couldn’t decide if she hated or loved that.

To be honest, the brunette didn’t give her much of a good impression - after all, their first meeting involved Veronica interrupting her confession of love to the boy she had been pining for most of her life. Who did she think she was, strutting into Pop’s with that ridiculous cloak and those stupid heels? The way Archie’s eyes pulled away from her face and widened in awe, like he had just seen Aphrodite in the flesh or something, when Veronica walked into the diner was just so… _irritating._ How dare she take him away from her like that?

And, with a cruel twist of fate (A trope that seems to be some sort of a running gag with the Cooper family), Betty just so happened to be this girl’s peer mentor. It was as if fate sat down and asked itself, “How else can I ruin Betty Cooper’s life today?”

But Veronica ended up the complete opposite of who Betty thought she was. She was kind, thoughtful, sweet - traits she never thought to associate with a girl like her. She was also the first girl to compliment her appearance; the only comments she got before her were from Cheryl, and none of them were positive.

Speaking of Cheryl, Veronica was able to put her in her place when she attempted to wring a sob story about Polly and Jason out of Betty during cheer tryouts. _No one_ talked back to Cheryl Blossom, _no one,_ but then this new girl from New York swoops in and knocks her down a peg or two just like that. Betty had _never_ seen Cheryl look defeated, not until Veronica came around.

(Then of course, there was that kiss, but she forces the thought away every time it tries to worm its way back in - and that happens more often than she wants to admit.)

And there was that thing about her father. She resonated with Veronica’s desire to separate herself from her family, to make a name for herself based on her own thoughts and decisions instead of constantly being associated with her parents, and she liked that she was making a genuine effort to become a better person. Betty knew all too well about the weight of a family legacy.

She had only known Veronica for a couple days and she did more for her than any of her other friends did - even Archie and Jughead. She couldn’t exactly explain how, but Veronica made her feel…confident. It was probably because Veronica practically radiated confidence, and she was just getting a contact high or something - but when Veronica was around, Betty felt like she could do anything. Betty really felt like she found a real, genuine friend in Veronica, someone she could trust. Someone she could always count on.

That is, until the other night, when she went into that stupid closet with Archie.

She didn’t know what they did while they were in there and she would rather not know at all, but she knew it must’ve been bad if Veronica was jumping through hoops to ask for her forgiveness. She had to admit that those cupcakes were pretty good, and the flowers were a nice gesture…but a material apology wasn’t going to cut it. Veronica managed to build _and_ break Betty’s trust within the span of a few hours.

So maybe Veronica wasn’t as honest as she made her believe. Maybe all of it was just a cover-up, or a trap of some sort to get people to take her side - to build up a posse of believers the way Cheryl did (After all, attention’s one of the few things rich girls can’t buy). Betty just happened to be her first victim, which made total sense. They always prey on the quiet shy girl with self-esteem issues first - they were the easiest to ensnare. She felt stupid for believing anything Veronica said to her in the first place - about being pretty and important, about being able to rise above Cheryl, about anything at all.

Betty still can’t figure out why she did it, but she hatched a plan to get back at Veronica. She used the gift certificate to Chez Salon that Veronica got for the both of them and invited Cheryl instead, right in front of Veronica’s eyes. Maybe a part of her thought that giving the brunette a taste of her own medicine would get her to realize just how much she hurt her feelings. That was the closest, most rational answer she could come up with.

She remembered the look on her face when Cheryl tugged her away by the hand. She remembered the shock, the confusion, the frustration, and _the hurt._ There was hurt in Veronica’s expression, and it actually made Betty feel good in that moment. It made her feel…powerful. Victorious. _Invincible._ So this was what it was like to be a head bitch in charge. So this was what it was like to get ahead by stepping on other people.

The feeling didn’t last long.

Cheryl ruined it when Betty invited her over later that day. She should have known it was a bad idea to swap Cheryl for Veronica - even if Veronica betrayed her, she was still kinder and more understanding. She should have seen it coming: The way Cheryl was oddly sweet, the sugarcoated apology for being such a bitch, the way she gently cradled her face in her hand as she brushed blush across her cheeks. She should have known that this had nothing to do with Cheryl actually feeling sorry for the way she treated her. She should have known this was about Polly - or, as Cheryl put it, her “crazy, tweaked-out sister”.

Her plan backfired, and now Veronica was holding a crying Cheryl in the girls’ change room. Betty lost, _again,_ and Cheryl reaped the rewards.

Why does she lose _everyone_ she holds dear? First Polly, then Archie, now Veronica. It was all her fault, wasn’t it? If she hadn’t gone away to Los Angeles for her internship, she could’ve found a way to save Polly from getting shipped off to a group home. If she wasn’t so terrible with conveying her feelings, maybe Archie would’ve reciprocated them.

If she would just get over herself and accept that Archie doesn’t love her the way she loves him ( _Does_ she love him? She’s not sure anymore), maybe Veronica would still be her friend. Maybe she wouldn’t have needed to fly in expensive cupcakes from New York. Maybe Veronica would be holding _her_ in the girls’ change room instead of Cheryl.

(Flickers of the kiss flit in and out behind her eyes. They hit her like waves, crashing into her one by one: Veronica’s hand cupping the back of her neck and gently pulling her in, Veronica’s flowery perfume barrelling into her senses because they're just  _so_ _fucking close_ and the millions of electric shocks coursing through her when Veronica finally kisses her _,_ Veronica’s lips smiling against hers, Veronica’s thumb shifting underneath her chin, Veronica’s tongue skillfully slipping into her mouth and taking control, Veronica’s index finger trailing down her neck as they pull apart, the mischievous glint in Veronica’s eyes and the knowing grin stretched across Veronica’s mouth, Veronica’s lipstick smeared on her face…)

_Veronica, Veronica, Veronica._

Veronica was her friend _first,_ Veronica came to her _first,_ Betty had Veronica _first-_

A stinging pain in her palms wrenched Betty out of her thoughts. She instinctively backed out of the doorway, away from Cheryl and Veronica’s line of vision, and pressed up against the wall. She didn’t have to look - she knew what was happening, though she wasn’t sure _why._

She leaned over to peer into the doorway. They were still hugging it out, which meant they didn’t see or hear her. A part of her was relieved, another part was disappointed.

She was suddenly overcome with an incredibly strong desire to ask Veronica to have a milkshake with her at Pop’s after the pep rally.

 

* * *

 

Veronica’s eyes weren’t looking at her face.

They were looking downwards, towards the table they were sharing at Pop’s. Her mood was unreadable, which bothered Betty. She hated not knowing the answer.

The blonde raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

It wasn’t until then she noticed that the tiny red arcs on her palms were fully visible - her hands were loose fists resting on the tabletop. She inwardly cursed herself and began to draw them inward, meaning to tuck them underneath the table and away from the rest of the world, but Veronica was faster. She reached forward in one swift movement and managed to catch her wrists at the last second. Her grip was surprisingly tender.

Her pulse was quickening and her temperature was rising. She hated that Veronica saw, and she hated herself even more for allowing Veronica to see (Years of doing this to herself made her ridiculously self-conscious of her hands, so she disliked it when people looked at them even if those cuts weren't there). The only person who knew about this nervous habit of hers was Polly. It was a small, minor detail that she figured would go unseen by the general public - and she was right, up until now. Was Veronica always this observant? Was she like this with everyone?

(On second thought, maybe not knowing the answers to certain questions was a good thing.)

Betty watched the way Veronica’s expression changed from enigmatic to slightly alarmed. Was this the part where Veronica tells her she’s a freak, that she’s clearly full of problems and that Cheryl was right about her all along? Is this where Veronica laughs in her face and leaves her all alone? Is this where Veronica says she should have befriended Cheryl first?

“Does this happen often?” Veronica’s voice was so, so, _so_ small, and it threw Betty into a whirlwind. There was a childlike tremor in her tone, like a little girl asking if there was a monster lurking in her closet. She began rubbing circles into her palms with her thumbs, gingerly brushing over the crimson indents. The contact made Betty lightheaded for some reason, and she had to lean back against her seat to keep steady.

“I-” What was she supposed to say? _Oh, yeah, this happens_ all _the time. Did I also mention that my mom forces me to take Adderall and my sister may or may not be emotionally unstable?_ “I guess it does. It sort of happens without thinking, though. It’s a bit of a bad habit.”

Veronica’s eyes softened into a stare so kind, so affectionate, so _loving._ “Well, we’re just going to have to find ways to break it, then.” There was nothing condescending or patronizing about her tone. She really meant it.

“Look,” She continued, her eyes moving up from their hands to lock onto Betty’s. They were so dark, Betty couldn’t tell where her pupils ended and her irises began. “I get that there’s some stuff about you that you think might scare me away, but trust me when I say I’m not going anywhere. I may not understand _everything_ you’re going through, but I really want to try, okay? I don’t know how just yet, but I want to help you. And I know I already screwed up once - believe me, I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon - but I promise you, Betty Cooper, I won’t _ever_ pull anything like that on you again. I mean it.” She finally let go of her hands, and Betty could breathe again. Veronica raised her right hand and held up three fingers. “Scout’s honour.”

Ending with a joke after being so genuine and personal. Another thing she should have seen coming. “Okay.” Betty felt herself agreeing automatically, and a chuckle escaped her lips. She was beginning to realize that it was very hard to say no to her. “I forgive you. Again.”

When Veronica’s mouth split into a wide, goofy grin, something warm and wonderful began to swell in Betty’s chest.

It wasn’t long before their milkshakes arrived, and Betty was just about to take her first sip when Veronica’s voice interrupted her again.

“Can we make a vow?”


	4. Pool House

“We’re done here.”

Betty’s voice is disturbingly nonchalant, like she doesn't really care that she was just a hair’s width away from killing someone just moments ago. She’s still slightly bent over the hot tub with the half-empty bottle of maple syrup in a hand that should have been trembling, but it was still hovering, stock-still, inches above her victim’s head. Her eyes are pointed in Veronica’s direction but the brunette knows she’s somewhere else right now, somewhere she can’t reach.

The brunt of the muscle relaxer is beginning to kick in; Chuck’s squirming lessened significantly and while his expression is still clearly alarmed, he had stopped screaming and was now sitting defeatedly in the bubbling water. His wrists are feebly still trying to wrench themselves out of the handcuffs, and the contact of the metal against the edges of the hot tub makes sharp ticking noises that stab at the awkward silence between the pool house’s three occupants.

Veronica knows she needs to say something, but there aren’t any words. She just watched Betty Cooper, of all people, go all Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde on Chuck fucking Clayton - what the hell was she _supposed_ to say?

When she gives up on finding the right words, she takes a hesitant step forward. Betty warningly shifts her eyes over to hers, a wordless _don’t you dare come any closer,_ and Veronica is horrified at how empty they look. The blue in her stare is cold, unwelcoming, and unfamiliar - _so_ unlike the Betty Cooper Veronica knows and loves. Where is she? Where did she go?

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Sure, when Veronica mentioned going “full dark, no stars”, she _did_ mean they would teach Chuck a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget, but she _definitely_ didn’t mean, “Let’s incapacitate him with drugs, handcuff him to a vat full of scalding hot water, and attempt to drown him while pouring maple syrup all over his face”. To be honest, all she really wanted to do was push Chuck around a little - show him what it _really_ meant to mess with Veronica Lodge. It was a case of the old honeypot trick: Lure him in with the promise of seduction, then blackmail him into admitting he lied about the stupid sticky maple business. He wasn’t the first boy she used this tactic on, and it worked like a charm. Boys like Chuck were a dime a dozen (And if she took that saying literally she would have more than enough money to bail her father out of jail _and_ buy back all the things they lost), and she knew he would have fallen for her trap in a heartbeat. She had to dip back into "Old Veronica" in order to come up with all of this, but it had to be done. Chuck needed to learn his place in the world - and it definitely wasn't anywhere above her, or Polly, or Ethel, or any of the other girls he and his stupid bro posse humiliated in that notebook.

But when Veronica laid out her plan to Betty earlier that evening, she was taken by surprise when the taller girl gave her an all too sweet smile and a simple, _“Don’t worry, V. I have an idea.”_ No explanation, not even a hint.

 _“So, I take it we’re_ not _going to Ethel’s together later?”_ She remembers asking with a quirked eyebrow. She was more intrigued than concerned at the time. She had no idea.

 _“I’ll meet you there. Promise.”_ She remembers the look on Betty’s face the moment she turned and left - the corner of her mouth lifted in a very unBetty-like smirk, the mischievous glint in her eyes - and she remembers being _excited_ about what Betty had in store for them later. What did Betty have up her sleeve that was too tantalizing to reveal to Veronica in that moment? Oh, if she only knew.

So when Betty sauntered into the pool house later that evening with the obsidian tendrils of her black wig bouncing around her jawline, all Veronica could think of was how this was the _last_ thing she would have expected from her.

Okay, well, if she had to be completely honest…it wasn’t the _only_ thing she was thinking about.

Veronica was also human, and she was also an _adolescent_ human. Weird shit happens to you when you’re a teenager, and sometimes feelings - among _other_ things - invade the mind in the most inopportune moments.

Moments just like this one.

Her eyes dropped slowly, first locking onto Betty’s wig, then to the bright red lipstick, then to the lace pattern of her bra, then to the pale skin of her exposed midriff, then to the way her hips swung underneath her skirt as she walked, then to the tautness of her thigh muscles and the curves of her calves, and then finally landing on the shiny black heels that clicked ominously against the floor.

(Then her eyes crawled back up, drinking in the details of Betty’s new appearance a second time. Could you blame her, though?)

It felt as if though Veronica’s hormones and common sense were locked in an arm-wrestling match, constantly pushing against each other for dominance. On one hand, there was something very, _very_ wrong here, and there were obviously a lot of things Betty wasn’t telling her. On the other hand, Veronica’s face felt like it had just erupted into flames and the wings of the butterflies in her stomach were flickering so quickly she almost felt sick. It was a good thing she was sitting down during Betty's dramatic entrance because she knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep a steady standing posture when Betty was looking like _that._

But then Betty began to mix muscle relaxer in Chuck’s drink without consulting Veronica first, and that’s when things began to go downhill.

 _This isn’t right, this isn’t right,_ Veronica’s conscience was repeating over and over again like a mantra as she watched Betty hand the tainted lowball glass over to Chuck. She turned away as the football star took an impossibly big gulp, draining more than half the glass.

 _“When is this thing supposed to kick in?”_ She remembers muttering to Betty out of the corner of her mouth.

 _“With the alcohol and the hot water, it should only take a second.”_ Betty winked at her - fucking _winked -_ and began to mix herself a cocktail, sans drugs. She offered to make one for Veronica, but the brunette was already too distressed by that time to even think about drinking. Betty downed the entire thing in seconds, licking her lips afterward with a satisfying  _smack._

There were three things that were running through Veronica’s mind in that moment:

One - Where the _hell_ did Betty find muscle relaxer?

Two - Since when did Betty drink alcohol?

Three - Where did this side of Betty even _come from?_

Sexiness aside - the black wig, the lacy getup, and the seductively dominant demeanour were far cries from the Betty Cooper Veronica was used to. If these were under _different_ circumstances, Veronica would have enjoyed this a lot more - _way_ more.

At first, things were going smoothly. They got a confession out of Chuck, and Veronica had everything recorded on her phone. That was all they needed. They could let Chuck go, and they could go home.

Then Betty pressed the bottom of her heel on Chuck's head.

_“Say you’re sorry for destroying me.”_

_“Apologize for what you did to me.”_

The look in Betty’s - or was it Polly’s? - eyes as she shook the bottle of maple syrup over Chuck’s face was something Veronica wasn’t going to forget any time soon. The edge in her voice made her sound like she was almost _excited_ she was doing this to him, forcing fear down his throat and pushing him into a corner. A part of her was _enjoying_ this form of torture. She _liked_ doing this to him - and that scared the shit out of Veronica. 

It's over now, though. 

Chuck's probably traumatized to hell and back, but at least he's still fucking  _alive._

The sound of a door opening pulls Veronica back to the present. Ethel is standing a few feet away, looking surprisingly relaxed. “Looks like you guys did what you said you were going to do.” Her eyes were trained on Chuck, who had passed out; his head was lolling on his shoulder, his forehead still shiny with maple syrup.

Betty’s staring at her feet, seemingly lost in…wherever the hell she is. Veronica clears her throat and makes her way towards Ethel, who was now lowering the temperature of the hot tub and freeing Chuck from his handcuffs. “We should probably dump him in an Uber and get him home.” She mumbles as she helps Ethel pull the poor boy out of the water. “Hopefully he won’t remember too much of what happened.”

“Oh, I hope he remembers _everything.”_ Ethel’s voice sounds way too casual as she drags Chuck by his arms. Veronica tries her best to _not_ look disturbed. “He deserves this. All of it.” She glances up at Betty, who’s still in her own world. “You guys did a good job.”

Veronica has no response to that. Instead, she helps Ethel wipe the remaining traces of maple syrup on Chuck’s face before setting up an Uber to take him home. While Ethel waits outside with the unconscious Chuck for the car, Veronica’s stuck in the pool house with Betty, who _still_ hasn’t said a word.

“B.” Veronica starts, and she begins to make her way towards the taller girl again. Betty doesn’t move an inch, which gives the brunette the impression it’s safe to keep going. She takes another couple steps. “Betty?”

The skin on Betty’s hands is stretched so tight that Veronica can see the bones and tendons moving underneath. It’s not until she takes a few more steps that she sees the tiny drops of red squeezing out between her fingers.

“Betty-“ Veronica moves in all the way this time, taking her hands in her own. “Betty. Betty, look at me. Betts. Hey.”

Betty’s _still_ not moving. She’s still staring at the floor, her eyes wide and unblinking. Her mouth is slightly agape but she’s making no noise. Panic inflates in Veronica’s chest as she tries to uncurl Betty’s fingers, but the other girl’s grip is vicelike.

“Betty, please,” Veronica’s voice is at least two octaves higher than usual, and her hands have moved upwards to Betty’s cheeks. Wherever Betty was, she was far away, and Veronica wasn’t sure how to bring her back. “Speak to me. I’m right here, Betty.” She shakes her head and glances around for a second, as if there’s something in this stupid pool house that would help her somehow. “Betty, it’s me - it’s Veronica. Oh my God, what am I supposed to do? Please, I need you to tell me. Tell me what I need to do, Betty. I’m _begging_ you.”

She can feel the tears coming, hot and humiliating. She curses herself for being so useless, so clueless, and so hopeless. She promised Betty she would help her. She promised Betty she would try to understand. She promised Betty she would help her break this habit. Instead, she’s failing miserably. Her best friend - the one true friend she’s ever had in her sixteen years of life - may or may not have had a psychotic episode a few moments ago, and she may or may not be disassociating right now, and she doesn’t know how to bring her back.

(This is why she hates attachment - because with attachment comes the risk of having something to lose.)

Feeling truly and utterly afraid for the first time in her life, Veronica pulls Betty in to press their foreheads together. The tears are clinging to her eyelashes, but they haven’t fallen just yet.

“I can’t lose you now, Betty Cooper.” She whispers in a voice so low she’s not even sure if she’s actually saying them, “Come back to me.”

Veronica closes her eyes and swallows hard, forcing herself to picture Betty - the Betty _she_ knows - in her head. She pictures the blonde hair, and the ridiculous ponytail that bounces with every slight movement. She remembers the eyes, almond-shaped and so blue she drowns in them every time they look at her. She remembers the simple cardigans, the pastel colours, the jeans, and the sneakers. She remembers the bright, tinkly laugh and the shy tilt of her lips every time she hears something amusing.

 _Come back to me,_ she wordlessly repeats to herself as she sifts through mental images of her dear friend. It was as if she was reaching out to her through some weird telepathic connection. It’s a bit of a stretch…but nothing else was working.

A few beats later, she hears Betty exhale.

She opens her eyes and she finds a pair of frightened blue ones staring back at her. Veronica immediately detaches herself and steps back, giving the taller girl some space. She swipes at her eyes, thankful for waterproof mascara.

_Holy shit, it worked._

“Veronica?” Betty’s face scrunches in pain, and she finally relaxes her hands. She stares down at her palms in horror, eyes widening at the blotches of red stained on her skin, and her chest begins to rapidly rise and fall. “Oh, no-”

“Hey, hey.” Veronica gently takes her hands, careful not to touch the little red slits on her palms; she gets a little bit of blood on her, but she doesn’t care. She pulls her over to the minibar, where Betty mixed Chuck that drink, and runs a napkin over her hands. She applies some pressure to the wounds, and she mumbles a quick apology when she hears Betty wince, but it stops the blood from flowing and that’s all that matters.

“V.” The blonde’s voice is small, so impossibly small. “I, I don’t know-”

Betty begins to hyperventilate, and her shoulders are quivering. The brunette moves to sit by the edge of the hot tub, dipping her feet in the water and gently tugging Betty down with her. She figured the warmth of the water might help somehow. “Look at me. Look at me, B.” When Betty’s eyes finally find hers, she continues. “Breathe for me, okay? I’m going to count to ten, and you’re going to breathe in slowly. Okay, one, two…”

She wanted, so desperately, to tell Betty that everything was okay, but that would be lying and she didn’t want to lie to her best friend. Nothing about this situation was okay, but like _hell_ was Veronica going to let it get any worse.

“Good girl. Now I’m going to count again, but this time you exhale. Got it? Alright - one, two, three…”

Veronica repeats this breathing exercise a couple more times while gingerly tending to Betty’s hands, and it seems to work. The taller girl is noticeably calmer, and she isn’t shaking as violently. Betty - the _real_ Betty - is back, at least for now. She looks completely different in that wig; she doesn’t look like she belongs in it anymore. The confidence in her body language has all but disappeared, and she no longer looks sure of herself.

Despite all of this, Veronica is relieved. She raises a hand and presses it against the side of Betty’s face, timidly brushing her cheek with her thumb. “That’s my girl.” The brunette smiles, but the blonde doesn’t smile back. “Where did you go? I thought I lost you.”

Betty shrinks within herself, wrapping her arms around her middle and dropping her head. “I want to go home.” Her voice cracks, and so does Veronica’s heart. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t going to force her to.

Veronica lived closer to Ethel’s place, but she wanted their Uber to drop the blonde off first. She made sure the car didn’t leave the driveway until she saw the light in Betty’s room switch on.

(She wanted more than anything to sink through her skin, twist herself through all of those veins and arteries, push through all of the muscle and sinew, and find whatever’s hurting her so she can remove it for once and for all, but she’s not sure if she was good enough to be her cure.

Tonight taught her that she might not be able to save Betty Cooper after all, and that scares the living shit out of her.)

* * *

When Betty shuts her down the next morning, insisting she doesn’t even remember referring to Chuck as Jason, something inside Veronica breaks. 

Betty throws up her hands as she rants about being "sick of guys like him", and Veronica catches a glimpse of the scabs on her palms. She's sure Betty can feel her stare, because she immediately closes her hands and spins on her heel to leave. The brunette doesn't want her to go, but she knows there's nothing she can do to keep her here either. 

 _Don’t shut me out,_ she silently calls after her as she watches the blonde walk away and disappear into the throng of students. She keeps her eyes trained on that ponytail as it bobs up and down through the crowd, and she feels a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. If the weird telepathic connection thing worked the last time, maybe it would work this time too.

_Don't shut me out, don't shut me out._

Helping Betty, she learned, was going to be a lot harder than she thought.

She still doesn't want to talk about it, and there's a good chance it'll be a long while until she does, but Veronica's willing to wait. She's willing to do whatever it takes, because she has something to lose now. She has something precious enough to want to fight for. She has something she wants to keep.

Veronica Lodge isn’t a quitter.

And so she squares her shoulders and presses forward.


	5. Fake

Give Veronica Lodge any piece of jewelry and she’ll be able to tell you how much it’s worth within five minutes of holding it.

Give her gold and she’ll know right off the bat if it’s 24 carat or if it’s lumped in with something else.

Give her a diamond and she’ll tell you everything about it. She knows the difference between an ideal and a fine cut. She knows how to check for blemishes. She steers clear from I1s; she only has eyes for Fs. _Flawless._

And don’t even get her started about pearls (If they’re not from the South Sea or Tahiti you can forget it).

Veronica Lodge can spot a fake from a mile away. You can say she has a sixth sense for it.

So you can only imagine the field day she’s been having ever since she moved to Riverdale.

This town is _full_ of fakes. Fake friends. Fake families. Fake backstories. Fake perfection. Fake happiness. Fake relationships. And she thought New York was superficial.

It had only been a little over a month since Veronica moved here and she had already been forced to put up with more drama and plot twists than the sixteen years she spent in the big city. This small town had _anything_ but pep, like its welcome sign implied; it was filled to the brim with secrets, so many secrets that Veronica was having trouble keeping track of all of them.

Where to start?

Jason’s funeral, wake, whatever the hell it was, was nothing short of a hot mess. Cheryl inviting her over to a sleepover offered a brief reprieve from everything - which shocked her, because she initially thought it was going to be a disaster - but it didn’t last long. Penelope and Clifford Blossom were the very definition of _demonic,_ and only added to the Crimson Peak-esque horror story that was Thornhill.

At least she now understood why Cheryl was the way that she was. She couldn’t help but feel more pity than hatred at this point, because now she knew why Cheryl needed to be a pain in the ass all the time. Thornhill was chaos, and it’s the one place Cheryl _should_ feel safe in, but she doesn’t - so she seeks control and consistency elsewhere: School. The River Vixens. Relationships. After living a life of not feeling like she can own up to anything, she craves validation. She craves to be on top. She _craves_ feeling important. So she yells at her Vixens for the smallest, most insignificant mistakes. She flaunts a new Hermès bag - one for every day of the week - as she saunters towards her locker in the morning. She kisses the cutest boy in class, right in the face of every pining girl.

None of this excused Cheryl’s behaviour, but it provided an explanation, and that’s all Veronica can ask of her right now.

So, what else?

There were her parents and their involvement with the Southside Serpents. Apparently Hiram wasn’t as innocent as Veronica thought he was. She was so quick to believe he was framed for his crimes, but now she wasn’t so sure. Since when did Daddy associate himself with _thugs?_

And since when did her mother think it was okay to forge her signature and throw herself into some stupid whirlwind romance with Fred Andrews behind her _and_ her father’s back?

Oh, speaking of _Andrews…_

Archie “sensitive-singer-songwriter-slash-varsity-football-star-athlete” Andrews getting himself tangled up with his music teacher in the back of her rusty Volkswagen? _Gross._ She didn't need  _or_ want to divulge in the details.

She thought she would have been able to find solace in the one good friend she made here, but even Betty Cooper had skeletons in her closet (She should have figured that out sooner; perfect girls next door are _rarely_ perfect). It had been a few weeks since the Chuck incident but memories of that night still sift around in her brain when she least expects it: The hot steam pillowing her face, the stink of chlorine, the clinking of ice in a glass, the clop of Betty’s heels against the floor, the globs of maple syrup cascading down Chuck’s horrified face…

Veronica knew Betty had been hiding things, but the whole “sadistic dominatrix/temptress alter ego” getup was the _last_ thing she would have guessed. She had heard things about the Coopers; aside from Jason’s death, they were the most popular gossip topic at school. She heard all sorts of things, but certain words stuck out more than most: _Crazy, imbalanced, out of sorts, batshit, Stepford-like…_

And there was that whole “Let’s break into Grundy’s car and steal the gun she’s been stashing in her glove compartment” thing. _That_ caught Veronica off guard. She didn’t even want to know what she was planning to do with that gun.

Every time Veronica thinks she has Betty figured out, the blonde runs ahead and does something completely unexpected - and Veronica is back at square one, confused and frustrated. She took pride in being able to read people, but Betty Cooper was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

Not to mention Betty had been extremely busy lately, which left her even more in the dark than before.

To be fair, Veronica had been spending a lot of time with Cheryl. After the funeral, she realized Cheryl truly had  _no one,_ and she knew what that was like. She knew what it was like to realize the "friends" she had been so invested in weren't really friends at all. She knew what it was like to have everyone's eyes on her, judging and assuming stupid things. She knew what it was like to be the subject of everyone's hushed whispering, and as much she hated to admit it, a part of her actually  _liked_ Cheryl (In those scarce moments when she isn't a raging bitch), and she didn't want her to feel like she had to put up with all of this crap by herself. Her one source of strength and stability had been taken away from her with a single gunshot wound to the head - she needed someone to lean on, and Veronica was willing to volunteer as tribute. 

But amongst all that, she still tried her best to make time for Betty.

 _I’m just so caught up with the Blue and Gold, and this investigation…_ Veronica heard the same excuse every time she found a rare opportunity to talk to her. It was almost like Betty _didn't_ want to talk, for whatever reason, and that worried her. She didn’t want to assume Betty was avoiding her, but how could she not? She was worried about her friend. Her  _best_ friend.

They  _were_ best friends, right?

_Cut to Betty standing in her black wig, staring at nothing with empty eyes._

_Cut to Betty's maimed palms._

_Cut to the blood oozing out in between Betty's fingers, dripping onto the wooden floors of the pool house._

She hated to admit it (She was still trying to get the hang of this _attachment_ thing. She'd take a bullet for Betty if need be, but still...attachment meant _weakness._ Attachment meant there was a _soft spot_ that someone could poke and prod at if they knew just where to look. She didn't _like_ that at all) but Betty’s absence _hurt._ It ripped a wide, gaping hole in her and she wanted so desperately to fill it but there was nothing - not even the little online shopping sprees she's been doing to spite her mother were enough, though at least she now has three new tops, four new dresses, and six new pairs of shoes. The only thing keeping her busy lately was the shit show that was her family life: All these newly discovered secrets, all these lies from her mother and father…it wasn’t the distraction she was looking for, but it was the only thing she had right now and it was driving her insane.

To be honest, she had been so caught up in her family drama that she didn’t even realize she was missing Betty until the night of the variety show - which made things worse because instead of a gradual aching that crescendoed with time, it was more like getting rammed in the chest with a freight truck...and then a cruise liner...and then a convoy of commercial airplanes. 

 _Veronica_ and _self-conscious_ are two things that are never used together in a sentence, but there she was, up on that stage, scanning the crowd for that familiar ponytail - and when she failed to find it, she was suddenly _very_ aware of what she was wearing. She could feel the leotard stretched against her skin as she moved her hips with the beat of Melody’s drums, and she could feel the warm air skimming her flushed face as she squinted underneath the spotlights. Veronica could suddenly _feel_ everyone’s eyes on her (And that _never_ bothered her before; in fact, she relished in it), and if she wasn’t so good at slash used to keeping up with appearances she was sure her throat would have closed up right then and there.

_Where was she?_

(Maybe there's a part of her that  _wished_ Betty could've seen her in that Pussycat outfit - because, at the risk of sounding vain, she was a goddamn  _knockout_ in it and it's a shame she missed it.)

It wasn’t like Betty promised she’d be there or anything - Veronica didn’t even have the time to ask her to come - but she figured she would have. Betty would have wanted to see her _and_ Archie perform. She would have wanted to support her friends. She would have wanted to help Archie overcome his stage fright. She would have wanted to watch her _best friend,_ Veronica fricking Lodge, the _V_ to her _B,_ sing onstage with the iconic Pussycats.

...Right?

_Cut to eating lunch._

_Cut to Betty's expression, incredulous and intrigued. "Veronica, I didn't know you could sing."_

And, of course, when she _did_ see her later that night - sopping wet, with an equally soaked Jughead, babbling something she couldn’t hear to Sheriff Keller - she didn’t have the opportunity to talk to her, because her mom had to ruin things. _Again._  

(She promised herself she’d fight for this girl, but she was already losing.)

(What - or _who -_ was she losing to, though?)

“Veronica?”

Long eyelashes flutter over tired brown irises, and Veronica realizes she’s sitting in the student lounge with Kevin, Archie, Jughead, and Betty. The paper coffee cup in her hand feels lukewarm. Neglected.

Archie’s staring at her, confused and concerned. Was he the one who called her name? It’s been a _long_ month.

What were they talking about again…? She knew asking this aloud would be a bad idea. The grave expressions everyone was wearing sort of gave that away.

Oh, right - Betty and Jughead were bringing everyone up to speed on their investigation. _More things to stress over. Hooray._ Polly, who is apparently _very_ knocked up with Jason’s unborn child, escaped the institution she’s been locked up in for the past several months and is currently nowhere to be found, and there was something about a _burning car?_

(How she _longed_ for the days when her biggest problem was figuring out which pair of Blahniks looked best with the cute little white Valentino she bought that one summer she spent in Milan with Katy.)

“Oh my God.” Veronica forces herself to widen her eyes in surprise (She would have been genuinely surprised if she didn’t just spend the past five minutes mulling over the mess that is currently her life). “Honestly, guys…we should-we should just move.”

She sounds like she’s reading straight off a script, but apparently it’s convincing because Archie nods in half-amusement, half-approval, and Betty continues her spiel without batting an eye in her direction.

“What if whoever killed Jason’s coming after her next?” Her pallid forehead is crinkled with worry, and her eyes are wide and sad. Jughead leans over and stretches his arm towards her, pressing his palm on her shoulder and pulling her closer towards him. Betty’s fingers instantly find his and she-

If this were a comedy, this would be the part where you’d hear the record scratch.

Veronica cants her head slightly as she tries to process what’s happening just a few feet in front of her. She can spot Archie from the corner of her eye with an expression not much different from her own; at least she wasn’t alone in this.

_Am I missing something?_

There’s a moment of awkward (And justified) silence before Archie hesitantly resumes the conversation, but Veronica is already tuned out. She’s replaying the past few weeks in her head at top speed, trying to pinpoint the _exact_ moment where Betty and Jughead announced they were more than friends - but she couldn’t find it, and she was growing more and more confused by the minute.

Is that why Betty was avoiding her lately? Was _Jughead,_ of all people, the real reason why she had been so busy? Was _Sorry, I’m doing another late night at the Blue and Gold, I’ll talk to you later_ a euphemism for _Sorry, I’m actually running off with my secret boyfriend?_

She realizes she has been silent for far too long for the _second_ time during this conversation. Archie’s body isn’t facing her, but his eyes are.

 _Tell me you’re just as weirded out as I am,_ He seems to be saying to her.

 _Trust me, I would if I could._ Veronica glances back at him for a split second before turning back to Betty. As confused and strangely upset she is right now, her best friend is worried about her sister, and she promised Betty she’d be there for her no matter what.

“How can we help?” She pauses for a moment, trying her hardest to mentally burn the image of those entwined hands. “Tell us, B - we’ll do it.”

* * *

They disperse not long afterward. Kevin leaves first, then Archie and Jughead head off together in a separate direction. This means Veronica has a few spare moments with Betty before they have to scamper off to homeroom, which is just enough time for her to get some answers.

(Riverdale is full of fakes. Pyrite. Fool’s gold. It shone, it shimmered, it gleamed, but Veronica knows none of it is real.)

(She has a sixth sense for this, remember?)

Once she figures they're a safe enough distance away from the boys, she taps on Betty’s shoulder. The taller girl spins on her heel, and Veronica unwittingly holds in her breath as she watches that ridiculous ponytail swing round. Betty’s eyes are inquisitive, curious, and _so goddamn blue, I almost forgot._ Her pink lips are pursed, and her head is tilted, and _holy shit does she know what she’s doing to me right now?_

This probably has to be the first time they’re (Sort of) alone together in…how long has it been? Days? Weeks? Years? Veronica doesn’t remember, but what she knows for sure is that it's been _way too fucking long_ \- at least for her. _Does Betty feel this distance too?_

She studies the blonde's face for a moment, as if she had forgotten what she looked like. Were those flecks of green in her irises _always_ there? Did Betty _always_ have three piercings on each earlobe? Veronica’s internally freaking out, almost like she’s punishing herself for forgetting these tiny details. How in her mother’s pearls does she not remember _any_ of this?

 _You’re in deep,_ She’s telling herself, but she shoves that stupid voice to the farthest recess of her mind and presses on.

“Did I just notice Riverdale High’s very own Holden Caulfield put his arm around you?” She notices that her voice is a half-octave higher than usual. The coffee she’s holding is probably ice cold by now.

Betty glances over her shoulder for a minute, like she’s checking for eavesdroppers. This only makes Veronica feel more unsettled. She starts talking about how she’s been going through a lot lately, but Veronica can’t make out most of what she’s saying. It’s almost like her ears are stuffed with cotton; everything’s mumbled and garbled.

The only thing she manages to hear clearly is, “Jughead was really there for me.”

_Cut to cheer tryouts. Cheryl’s lecturing, and Veronica’s eyes are darting towards Betty’s clenched fists._

_Cut to sitting together at Pop’s. Veronica’s thumbs are gently rubbing circles on Betty’s palms, careful not to press too hard._

_Cut to Ethel’s pool house. Veronica swipes a towel over Betty’s bloodied hands, and she’s counting to ten._

_Cut to Betty forlornly watching Archie play guitar during spare period, with Veronica knowingly glancing at her from the corner of her eye._

_Cut to Betty discreetly taking Adderall behind the door of her locker, with Veronica on the other side listening to the rattling of pills inside a plastic bottle._

_Cut to Betty going off about how crazy her mom is, with Veronica nodding in agreement and soothingly rubbing her shoulder._

_Cut to Betty squeezing her eyes shut because she hates the word_ perfect _and how she’s forced to mould herself into it, and Veronica tentatively reaching up to brush the tears away._  

“Jughead was really there for me.”

_Cut to Veronica spying on her mother arguing with a Southside Serpent in the dark._

_Cut to Veronica stopping dead in her tracks when she spots Hermione and Fred embracing behind the tiny, dirty window of a construction site office._

_Cut to Veronica storming out of Riverdale High after learning her mother forged her signature, willing herself to hold in her tears until she finds a place where she can be alone._

_But what about_ me?

But this isn’t about her.

It never was, wasn’t it?

(So it’s _her_ turn to play the fool.)

“Oh my God, _swoon.”_

(It’s her turn to make people believe she shines, glimmers, and gleams.)

“Okay, in that case,” She’s on autopilot at this point, “If he helped my girl-”

Her eyes dart downwards for a second; for some reason she can’t meet Betty’s stare.

 _My_ girl.

“-navigate some turbulent waters,” She dramatically lifts a hand to her chest and turns her head with a flourish (She’s _still_ not looking at her), “Well then - _Veronica Lodge approves.”_

(Pyrite. Fake. She’s no better than the rest of them.)

Betty shyly dips her head and offers a coy smile. She bought it.

(Who's the _real_  fool here - the one who believes the lie, or the one who tells it?)

“Atta girl.” Veronica suddenly remembers she has functioning legs, and she pushes herself forward. She loops her arm around Betty’s and puts on her best smile. Their hands brush briefly, and Veronica can feel the scabs on Betty’s palms.

(Who’s fooling _who_ now?)

“C’mon, let’s go find your sister.”

As they walk to class together, her thoughts meander over to the Riverdale clubbing scene. She remembers Kevin using words like _sad_ and _pathetic_ and _dismal,_ but she honestly couldn’t care less at the moment.

She is in _dire_ need of a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by Frank Ocean's "Pyrite (Fool's Gold)".


	6. Roommate

“Thanks again, Veronica.” Polly is shyly grinning over the sweater she’s holding up, pinching the shoulders with her fingers before laying it flat on the bed before her.

Betty’s a few feet away, kneeling over the lowest drawer of Polly’s new dresser. “Honestly, V, I think I owe you for the rest of my life - and _then_ some.”

“For the thousandth time already,” The brunette rolls her eyes as she saunters into the room with a stack of fluffy bathroom towels cradled in her arms, “Don’t mention it - and I’m referring to the _both_ of you.” She sets the towels on the polished surface of the dresser before smirking in Polly’s direction. “We had to make use of the guest room eventually.”

When Betty finishes tucking the last of Polly’s shirts into the drawer, she pushes it shut and raises to full height. Veronica is suddenly aware of how _tall_ she is - if she wasn’t wearing heels right now, the brunette’s forehead would barely graze her shoulder. “Mom won’t ever think to find you here…” Betty’s gaze falters for a moment. “Or at least I think she won’t. I don’t know. She always manages to find what she’s looking for.”

“Hey,” Veronica approaches her, her eyes softening, “Even if your mom _does_ find your sister here, there’s not much she can do. Polly’s a big girl; she can make her own decisions. And do you really think my mom and I would bend to Alice Cooper’s will?” Her smirk returns, and something inside of her lights up when Betty can’t help but smile back. “We Lodge women are _notorious_ for our stubbornness, you know.”

“Oh, believe me,” It’s Betty’s turn to smirk, “ _I do.”_

Both girls erupt in a fit of quiet laughter, and their eyes meet. Blue melts into brown, and vice versa. Suddenly it feels like the past few weeks they spent apart never happened: The Blue and Gold is still defunct, Alice Cooper isn’t insane, Hermione Lodge isn’t lying to her daughter, Betty isn’t dating someone else right now…

Everything’s in its right place.

Veronica’s standing a lot closer to Betty than she thought; did she take a few steps closer without noticing? She spots the dashes of green in those blue eyes, and her throat instantly goes dry. _Well, this_ never _happened before._

Betty’s stare is focused, calculating, _analyzing,_ and Veronica’s hit with a wave of self-consciousness - the second one she’s had in the past week, and the second she’s ever had in her entire goddamn life.

And _both_ times were Betty Cooper-related.

The blonde’s eyes are boring holes into hers; what the _hell_ is she seeing? Veronica forces herself to swallow, and she can feel her lips slightly part - for what reason, she’s not exactly sure, but the moment it happens she catches those blue-with-a-lovely-hint-of-green irises flitting down towards her mouth for a _split_ second and she almost _loses it-_

“Um,” Polly clears her throat, and both of them nearly jump at the noise, scaring them apart, “Did you say Smithers brought my other bag up already, Veronica?”

“I’ll check.” Betty immediately answers, and in seconds she’s gone. Both Veronica and Polly’s eyes follow her out the door, and they linger for a moment before resting on each other.

Veronica’s hoping to God - or whatever otherworldly deity is currently listening at the moment - that her face isn’t as flushed as it feels.

She breaks eye contact with Polly and darts over to the nearest pile of clothes, desperate for a task. She can feel the elder Cooper girl’s eyes on her; the awkward silence is hanging over Veronica’s head like a guillotine. She feels obligated to say something, _anything at all,_ but as soon as she opens her mouth Betty bursts back into the guest room with a duffel bag.

 _So there_ is _a God._

“I have to get going.” Betty sighs before dumping the bag on the mattress, “I have a ton of work to do - homework…and I’ve got to do some more editing for the Blue and Gold.”

Jughead’s face and his stupid beanie flash before Veronica’s eyes, and the muscles in her jaw twitch.

 _Never mind - there is_ no _God._

“That’s okay,” Polly smiles, “You’ve done more than enough for me today. You should get going.” She leans into her sister, wrapping her arms around her as best as she could; her prominent belly prevented them from getting too close.

“I can come by tomorrow morning before school, if that’s okay.” Betty’s head swivels over to face Veronica, her ponytail swinging behind her. The brunette dips her head once in a nod of approval, though her eyes are trained on the pair of pants she’s currently pretending to fold. “Great - we can have breakfast together before Ronnie and I have to go.”

 _Ronnie and I._ She can feel the heat in her cheeks, and she lowers her head even more so the Coopers can’t see.

 _Get it together, Lodge. What has gotten_ into _you? Remember the good old “_ Veronica Lodge doesn’t _do_ love” _days_? _What in the blue hell happened to those?_

Betty fucking Cooper did, that’s what.

“I know you said to cut it out,” Betty’s voice is suddenly a few decibels higher; she had walked over to Veronica’s side without her even noticing. Her fingers brush along Veronica’s forearm, and it takes a herculean effort for the brunette to keep herself from jumping out of her own skin. “But I really want to thank you again, V. I honestly don’t think I’ll stop thanking you anytime soon. You’ve…you’ve done so much for me these past few weeks.”

When Veronica finally finds it in herself to look upwards, her brain short-circuits. Betty’s a _lot_ closer than she thought she was, and her fingers are still loosely wrapped around her arm. The blonde pauses for a moment, her eyes briefly flickering downwards (Is she looking at her lips _again?)_ before returning to her own. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before - _ever._ Not even Archie…” Her voice lowers considerably, “Or Jughead.”

 _Or Jughead._ Pride swells in Veronica’s chest. _Take_ that, _Torombolo._ “Anything for my girl.” She replies nonchalantly before patting the hand that’s _still_ sitting on her forearm. She hopes Betty can’t feel the goosebumps. “See you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Betty throws her one last smile, and pulls her hand back. The skin on her arm feels uncomfortably cold without Betty’s touch, and Veronica fights the urge to reach out to her when she spins on her heel to leave. She hears the blonde utter a farewell to Smithers, and there’s the sound of a door opening and closing.

Exactly five seconds later, Polly’s eyes find Veronica’s.

“So, you like my sister.” It’s not a question; she’s stating this as fact.

_Shit._

Was she _that_ obvious that Polly Cooper, someone she’s only known for a few hours, was able to notice?

Veronica’s face must have answered for her, because Polly’s jaw drops slightly and she shakes her head before continuing. “N-not that it’s a bad thing! I mean, I don’t judge, honestly, I don’t-” She motions to her stomach, “-I don’t think I’m in a place to do such a thing anyway.” She lets out a sheepish chuckle; her expression is embarrassed and rueful.

The brunette sighs and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. What has she got to lose? And if she tried denying it, she’d only look stupider. “It’s just a silly crush.” She runs her fingers through her hair as she tries to come up with the right words. “Or at least I think it is. This…is kind of new to me.”

Polly takes a few seconds before answering. “New as in…she’s the first _girl_ crush you’ve ever had?”

“Oh no, I’ve dated my fair share of girls back in New York,” Veronica answers flippantly, completely oblivious to the way Polly’s eyes widen at _my fair share of girls,_ “I meant _new_ as in…I’ve never actually _wanted_ someone the way…the way I want her, if that makes any sense.” She gets quieter with every word, and by the time she finishes her sentence she’s staring at her hands, which are fiddling with each other on top of her lap. She suddenly feels like a child being interrogated for stealing from the cookie jar.

Polly sits on the opposite side of the bed. Her hand rests on her stomach, and her eyes soften as she glances downward. A distant smile stretches across her lips; she’s in the middle of remembering something fond, something that happened a long time ago. “It does, actually.” Her voice is almost a murmur, and for a moment Veronica’s unsure if she’s still talking to her. It’s obvious she’s talking about Jason; the tenderness in her expression and the way she’s gingerly rubbing her baby bump say it all.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” The word _love_ feels foreign on her tongue, like it doesn’t belong there. It’s a language she isn’t fluent in, but now that nearly everyone in her life is currently speaking it - Her mom and Mr. Andrews, Archie and Valerie, Kevin and Joaquin, Betty and Jughead - it’s feeling more and more like a party she wasn’t invited to.

“I wasn’t aware I was capable of loving anyone who _wasn’t_ my sister until Jason came along.” The smile Polly's wearing is radiant, glowing. “He and I, we weren’t very different from each other: We both had crazy parents, we both felt like we were pressured to be this perfect version of ourselves - perfect student, perfect child, perfect _whatever_ our parents wanted us to be. He had Cheryl and I have Betty, of course, but…there were just some things we couldn’t share with them, y’know? That’s how we got close. We were lonely people, and we found a home with each other.”

Veronica finds herself nodding in agreement, even though a part of her is vehemently denying anything about ever feeling lonely. Her eyes are still trained on her fumbling hands, and she’s at a loss for words.

What is she supposed to say?

_I know I’ve only known your sister for about a month, but I think I feel for her what you felt for Jason._

_I just have this feeling that Betty and I were_ destined _to be together in some shape or form, except that I actually want to_ be with her _and not just be her best friend._

_I really miss Betty when she’s not around and when I see her smile I kind of go a little crazy. Should I be worried about this?_

_Thinking about Betty and Jughead holding hands or kissing makes me want to do something drastic…like punch a wall, or drown a puppy. I’m not jealous, am I?_

_Do I enjoy the time we spend together? Yes. Do I miss her when she’s not around? Of course, and it hurts. Do I want to hear her talk all day long, even if it’s about something boring like physics homework or Nancy Drew? Obviously. Do I think about the kiss we had more times than I want to admit? Yep. Do I ever wonder who would be the big and little spoons if we ever shared a bed? Hell yeah. Do I want to uncurl her fists and kiss her scars until they magically disappear? All the damn time. But do I want to be her stupid girlfriend? I honestly don’t know._

_I may or may not have come to the realization that I’ve been terribly lonely for a very long time, but being around Betty makes me feel like I don’t have to feel that way anymore._

_I think I’m in fucking love with your sister and I’m kind of freaking out because I’ve never been in love before and the thought of committing to another person and being completely vulnerable to said person scares the living hell out of me. Please help, I’m a goddamn mess._

“All I really want for Betty is for her to be happy.” It’s like Polly _knows_ Veronica’s having a silent argument with herself. “She’s been through so much - much more than me, and that’s saying a lot.”

Knowing she’s been quiet for too long, Veronica wills herself to say something. “I know about that thing she does with her hands.” The words tumble out of her too quickly, and before she has half a mind to take them back they’re already out in the open for Polly to drink in.

“I know.” Polly’s smiling at her, and Veronica tries to smile back but she’s too flabbergasted to do anything but gape. “Betty told me how you sort of confronted her about it.” When Veronica’s expression changes from shocked to horrified, Polly giggles. “Don’t worry, she wasn’t upset. I actually think she was glad you did it.”

“Really?” Her voice is at a frequency only dogs can hear.

“I think she needed to confide in someone else, someone who wasn’t me.” Polly replies casually. “She just couldn’t find the right person.”

Veronica’s throat goes bone-dry for the umpteenth time in the past hour, and when she finds it in herself to speak her voice is high-pitched and scratchy. “So…what you’re saying is _I’m_ the right person?” She lets out a self-depreciating laugh. “You know she’s dating Jughead, right?”

“I do.” Polly absentmindedly begins to smooth the wrinkles on the bedspread. “I've known him for a long time, and he's always been really nice to me, so I trust him with her...but how are you taking it?”

“It’s…it’s not like I _hate_ Jughead, or anything-” Veronica is stammering now, and she despises herself for doing so because Lodges _never_ stammer or fumble or show any outward sign of vulnerability, “-but I just…I feel like I can give her _so_ much more than what he’s giving her right now - a-and I’m not firing shots at him for, er, not being financially stable or anything - I mean stuff like…” She trails off and she furrows her brow, trying to figure out just what exactly she was trying to say.

It takes a few moments, but when the words finally come they spill out of her and flood the entire room. Her voice starts out meek, uncertain, but it gradually hardens into something louder, angrier, and more aggressive.

“Like, I don’t even think he notices the scars on her hands, and that drives me crazy. No one has the slightest idea of what she’s going through, what she’s trying to hide from everyone - but all of it is _right_ there for everyone to see! Betty wants to believe she’s doing a good job at keeping things under wraps, but it’s so obvious she’s hurting, that there’s a darkness she’s struggling to keep inside.” She exhales noisily, glaring at the ground. “Why isn’t anyone noticing? Why is everyone keeping quiet about it? Why isn’t anybody _helping_ her? Why isn’t _he_ doing anything about it? He’s her _fucking boyfriend!_ You know, he doesn’t even _like_ calling her his girlfriend, he _hates_ the word-”

Veronica’s eyes begin to sting, and she realizes her hands have curled into fists sometime during her angry monologue. She was completely unaware of the unshed tears clinging to her eyelashes until now; she’s resisting the urge to look at Polly, partially because she’s afraid of her reaction and partially because she knows the tears will start falling if she makes any sudden movement.

“Veronica…” Polly’s voice is concerned, consoling. The tears in Veronica’s eyes have reduced her to a blurry mass of colour.

The brunette lets out a half-sob, half-scoff, rolling her eyes before reaching up to swipe away the tears. She feels humiliated, childish, _stupid._ She hasn’t even known Polly for an entire day, and yet here she is, on the verge of tears while confessing her unrequited love for her sister. How low is she going to sink today? And when was the last time she _nearly_ cried in front of someone who wasn’t her mom? She can’t remember.

“I just-” She manages to choke out, but she hates how pathetic she sounds. “I j-just want him to _notice,_ that’s all. I want him to say something. _Anything._ She shouldn’t have to point it out to him.” She lets out a shaky sigh. “She deserves someone who'll always be honest with her, who’ll always notice first - who'll always be the first one to say, 'Hey, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?'” She sniffles, and she feels even stupider. "She deserves so much more. She deserves the whole damn universe."

Polly waits a few moments, just in case Veronica has anything else to say. When she’s met with silence (And a couple of poorly concealed hiccups), she reaches over as far as she can to take the brunette’s hands in her own.

There wasn’t anything else that needed to be said by either of them; the contact’s more than enough. Veronica sits there, her face contorted with constraint as she tries her best to hold in what little dignity she has left - and Polly is sitting there with her, holding her hands and not saying a single word. She doesn’t even encourage her to cry, or let it all out - it’s like she knows it’s the last thing Veronica wants to do.

 _Thank you, thank you,_ Brown eyes reluctantly raise to meet blue, _I needed this._

 _Your secret’s safe with me,_ Blue eyes crinkle at the corners in a sympathetic smile.

* * *

(Why on earth did she think holding the baby shower at the Pembrooke would be a good idea?

Jughead strides over, and Betty leans into him for a kiss that’s as sweet as the desserts he just placed on the table in front of them.

She makes a beeline for the wine, not caring if her mother notices. She cracks the seal, uncorks the bottle with ease, and pours a generous amount into her punch. Nothing like a helpful of sangria to get you through a rough evening.

She can feel Polly’s eyes on her.

 _I’m fine,_ She mentally grumbles, as if the other girl can hear. She knocks her head back as she gulps half of her drink.

 _No you’re not,_ She can imagine Polly saying back, _No you’re not.)_


	7. Helpless

“Do you think we would have been friends if I met you before you moved here?”

There’s a light scoff. “How honest do you want my answer to be?”

A pause. “Brutally.”

“Then no, we wouldn’t have.” The answer is quick, clipped, and factual.

A lighthearted chuckle escapes her lips, though there’s a chord of hurt in there somewhere. She already knew the answer, and yet. “That bad, huh?”

The warm glow of the fireplace fills every inch of the Pembrooke, but not a flicker touches those dark, dark eyes. “Girl, you don’t know the half of it.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s staring at me.” Kevin is grimacing at the… _whatever’s_ sitting on his lunch tray. “I swear, it’s sentient.”

“A true testimony to the National School Lunch Act, circa 1946.” Even Jughead won’t touch it; that’s how bad it is.

“You know, even though it’s a private school, Spence wasn’t any better.” Veronica wrinkles her nose in disgust.

Betty’s lips split into a teasing grin. “So you’re saying that poor Veronica Lodge was forced to eat the same gruel as us plebs and peasants?”

A playful roll of the eyes. _“I_ had my lunches carefully prepared by a chef from Nice who used to cater for then-Brangelina and _all_ of their kids, thank you very much.” She pushes her tray as close to the far end of the table as she possibly can. “Katy and I would _beg_ him to make-”

She cuts herself off, leaving Betty and the rest hanging on her words. She looks like she just saw Jason Blossom’s ghost.

She briefly mentioned Katy before to her in private - the things they've said and done to other girls, mostly, but she never disclosed anything about their actual relationship with each other. The fact that Veronica's keeping that part a secret kind of makes Betty upset, for some reason.

“Make what?” The blonde shyly prods, though she already knows that’s the most she’s going to get out of her today.

Five seconds of silence later, “I just realized-” Veronica’s hand disappears inside her Prada bag; a beat goes by, and she’s holding up her phone. “-We have a solid forty-five minutes before next period. That’s enough time to Uber to Pop’s, pick up something edible, and Uber back. What do you think?”

The boys bite the bait; they’re already getting up to leave. Veronica’s smirk is triumphant.

Betty casts her a knowing look as they cross the field towards the parking lot. _You can’t keep this up for much longer._

Chestnut irises gleam wickedly under the afternoon sun.

 _Watch me,_ They seem to say back.

 

* * *

 

She stabs the eraser end of her pencil towards the paper cup sitting by her textbook. “That’s gotta be, like, your third coffee since this morning. Late night?”

“Kinda.” Distant, distracted.

Her brow furrows with worry. “V?” No reply. “Ronnie.”

“I’m fine.” Siri could have given her a more lively response.

She wonders if it’s safe to keep prying (Probably not, but what the hell). “Do you want to talk about it?”

The sound of rifling pages. “Do you remember which sections we need to know for next week’s test?”

_I guess that’s a no._

 

* * *

 

“Keep your hands _up,_ Veronica. There isn’t any money for you to steal down there.” Cheryl’s prowling around the gym, scrutinizing every move.

Betty can practically hear Veronica’s eyes rolling from where she’s standing, which is beneath her; she’s one of two girls hoisting the brunette into the air.

Cheryl signals to change position, and Betty lets out an _oof_ as Veronica tumbles into her arms. She inadvertently leans in and her eyes flutter to a close as she breathes in something flowery and expensive.

“If this is what you’re going to give me for Thursday’s game then consider me an ex-Vixen, because there’s no way I’m associating myself with any of this.” Cheryl isn’t subtle when she throws a glare in Veronica’s direction. “Where’s the dedication? Where’s the commitment?”

Veronica steps forward, but no one is surprised. “Give us a break, drill sergeant. You’re working us into the ground with this extra hour of practice.”

“Which you showed up late to for the second time this week.” The redhead sneers. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you off the squad right here, right now.”

“I was literally _one minute_ late.” Veronica counters.

“Where were you, anyway?” Betty can _feel_ the acid dripping from Cheryl’s voice. “Looking for another business for Daddykins to ruin?”

It’s only for a split second, but something flashes across Veronica’s features - Alarm? Fear?

Whatever it was, it was enough for Cheryl to feel like she won the argument. She simpers, spins on her heel, and orders her Vixens to get back in formation.

Veronica’s still standing where Cheryl left her, mouth slightly agape and eyes staring at something Betty can’t see. “V?”

Something switches back on inside of her; the brunette raises her head and flashes Betty a shimmering smile that rivals the pearls stringed around her neck.

“Coming.”

 

* * *

 

“Sorry,” She pushes her locker door shut and spins the lock. “Jughead and I are catching a screening of The Apartment at the Bijou. Rain check?”

“This’ll be the fourth rain check since last weekend, but okay.” There’s an unmistakable hint of bitterness.

She can’t help but feel annoyed. “In case you’ve forgotten, Jughead’s my boyfriend. Last I checked, you spend time with your significant other - and he's just trying to do something nice for me." She pauses to sigh. "Between school, my parents, and Polly willingly becoming the Blossoms' prisoner and refusing to explain why, I  _need_ a break."

“Valid point, but what about-” The rebuttal is interrupted by a yawn, and for the first time she notices the shadowy half-circles stained underneath those brown eyes. “-Sorry. Maybe I’m just being cranky; I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Guilt rubs out any remaining trace of the annoyance she felt just moments ago. “Are you…do you need me to-”

“Sabotage your date with wannabe genderbent Daria just so you can hang around poor old me?” A smirk, followed by a dismissive wave of the hand. “I’m flattered, but it’s not necessary. Enjoy your movie.” A half-turn, and suddenly there’s the sound of Ralph and Russo pumps clicking farther and farther away.

 _And the ‘Best Friend of the Year Award’ goes to..._ She chastises herself, and her hands automatically curl into fists.

 

* * *

 

The answer to the problem Betty is currently working on for math homework is 65.8, but the six is the only legible number.

That’s because halfway through writing the answer, Veronica’s leg accidentally brushed against hers. The contact subsequently fried every wire in Betty’s brain, which threw a giant wrench into her cognitive capabilities.

Being only a double, her bed barely has enough wiggle room with the both of them lying on it - which _also_ means that incidental physical contact is to be expected. Plus, it’s not like they haven’t touched each other before; their legs have accidentally brushed up against each other _billions_ of times. Heck, they’ve held hands, hugged, kissed…

It isn’t until Veronica speaks up that she realizes she’s been reading the same sentence in her textbook over and over again for the past few minutes.

 _What the hell are you_ doing? _You have a_ boyfriend.

“Hey, do you remember the poem Ethel did?” Judging by her casual tone, she’s completely unaware of Betty’s mini-meltdown.

Betty takes a second to rewind back to when they were still in school. “The one she read in class?”

“Yeah.” Veronica taps her pencil against her binder. “Did you…I dunno - did you feel like she was trying to tell us something?” It’s weird, hearing her sound so uncertain.

“It was sad, sure,” The blonde nods, “But…I don’t know. It’s poetry. It could mean anything, V.”

“Exactly, which is why I invited her over to lunch tomorrow.” She flashes a grin, and Betty automatically forces herself to swallow so she can get rid of the giant lump that magically lodged itself into her throat. “I got Kevin to come, and I want you to come too.”

She sounds a little too eager, like she’s trying to prove something. This isn’t very Veronica-like. What exactly does Veronica Lodge, of all people, have to prove? “Sure, but… _why_ are you doing this?”

Veronica’s eyes look away for a second, and she bites down on her bottom lip; Betty tries her hardest _not_ to stare at her mouth, but it’s futile. “Because I need to do the exact opposite of what _Old Veronica_ would’ve done.”

Her reply slips out quicker than she can catch it. “What _would_ have Old Veronica done?”

Silence - a very heavy one.

She decides to test the waters a second time. “Does this have anything to do with Katy?”

The look Veronica gives her screams _A lot of it had to do with Katy_ (And for reasons unexplained the blonde can't help but feel a little upset with that) but instead she says, “I think you already know the answer.”

Betty knows she’s desperate to change the topic, so she does the honours by jerking her head towards her notebook. “So what did you get for question 5?”

 

* * *

 

 _Click, click, click._ The wooden hangers bang noisily against each other as perfectly manicured hands flip between outfits.

“Is this really necessary?” Blue eyes move back and forth between endless racks of clothes in a closet that’s nearly as big as her bedroom.

“I have a bunch of stuff I don’t need and haven’t even worn, so I might as well find a good home for them.” _Click, click, click_. “Ethel deserves something nice.”

She pushes out a sigh and moves to lean against the doorframe. “You’re not responsible for your dad’s mistakes, V. It’s not your obligation to rebuild what he destroyed.”

The clicking stops. A hand grips onto the silken fabric of a gown elegant enough to merit an appearance at the Oscars, or the Met Ball, or Cannes (And, knowing its owner, it probably already has).

“Just…” There’s a shimmer to the tone, like it’s feebly trying to hold onto something that’s threatening to disappear. “Just let me do this, B. Please.”

Her heart can’t take the way her name is uttered, even if it’s just one letter. It sounds so…tired. Broken. Hopeless, even.

So she stays quiet.

_Click, click, click._

 

* * *

 

She’s tiny.

Incredibly, _impossibly_ tiny.

Betty's so used to Veronica's larger-than-life attitude that she nearly forgot the girl is at least a head shorter than her (Plus, the heels always add a couple inches). The Veronica she knows has a personality that inflates the second she walks into a room, filling up every possible space. The Veronica she's with now is anything  _but_ that: She's tucked into herself, her body frail with tears. Suddenly the world feels so big, and it's threatening to swallow her whole.

Betty's arms around Veronica’s shaking, sobbing form are vicelike; she’s deathly afraid that if she loosens up, even by just a fraction, the brunette will come undone and spill out across the floor - just like her pearls.

She wants to blame someone - _anyone -_ for this. How _dare_ they make Veronica cry? How _dare_ they hurt her like this, how _dare_ they reduce her to the minuscule, defeated girl bawling her eyes out on the floor of a high school locker room?

The first person she wanted to be angry with was Kevin, but it wasn’t his fault; he was just the bearer of bad news. Then she wanted to be angry with Ethel’s father…but it wasn’t his fault either, and the man just tried to kill himself, for God’s sake. It’s not his fault he thought it would be a good idea to invest with Hiram Lodge.

 _Hiram._ This is all his damn fault. If only he can _see_ what he’s doing to his daughter, his supposed pride and joy-

Or maybe it’s _her_ fault for not recognizing the warning signs sooner - the hesitance over talking about life back at Spence, the sleep deprivation, the spaciness, the tardiness, the overzealousness with Ethel…

How many times has she asked her to “hang out”, to “just go somewhere and talk for a little while”, or to “do something mindless”? How many times has she turned her down because of her insane schedule? Her family, her boyfriend, school, all of that seemed so stupid and irrelevant now. How many times has Veronica sidestepped her responsibilities to take Betty’s as her first priority?

The hand rubbing circles on Veronica’s back begins to tighten into a fist.

Her knees are starting to ache from crouching for so long. Betty shifts to sit on the floor, and Veronica moves with her; she sits across her lap and presses her face into the side of her neck, her sobs muted against her skin. She curls up, making herself as small as she possibly can, and Betty lets her because she knows what it’s like. She knows what it’s like when your world is collapsing around you, to feel like the only thing you can do in that moment is to hold yourself together because you’re not sure if you’re going to collapse too.

She’d give up her whole universe if that would stop Veronica from hurting, but life never works in Betty Cooper’s favour, so cradling her in the girl’s change room is the least she can do for now.

One of the estranged pearls rolls towards them, bumping against Betty’s knee. It glares up at her, shining pure white in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

She keeps her gaze trained on the girl next to her, even though it hurts to watch.

The words coming from Mrs. Muggs' mouth rip, tear, slice, maim, and mutilate. The hand she’s holding is shaking so bad she has to grasp it with both of her own.

“Come on.” She murmurs, and she lets go in order to wrap her arm around a pair of violently trembling shoulders.

Is this the same person who strutted into Pop’s that one night and stole Archie’s attention? Is this the same person who boldly, yet gently, kissed her in front of Cheryl Blossom? Is this the same person who barrelled into the boys’ change room and demanded that Chuck Clayton delete that post off Instagram?

No, it can’t be.

They barely make it out of the waiting room before the tears start to fall.

She leans against the wall as the elevator crawls back down to the ground floor, chin resting atop wavy black hair and lips whispering soothing words. She glances upwards to stare at the fluorescent lights, but she knows there isn’t much she can do to keep her own tears from flowing.

Her fingernails bite into her palms, but it isn’t her pain she’s feeling right now.

Her heart aches for the crying stranger in her arms.

 

* * *

 

Betty’s phone is buzzing again.

Veronica twitches against her, but doesn’t say a word. She hasn’t said anything since they got back from the hospital, though Betty isn’t expecting her to.

When they got to the steps of the Pembrooke, she was just about to turn and go when she realized Veronica was still holding onto her hand - a silent _Please stay._

So that’s exactly what Betty did.

Her mom could be calling. Jughead could be texting her. Archie might have some news on Polly from his rendezvous with the Blossoms - but none of that mattered right now.

They’re lying in Veronica’s bed, with the brunette’s back pressed against her chest. They haven’t even bothered taking off their outerwear or shoes. The brunette reaches behind her to take Betty’s hand in her own, gingerly tugging so that the blonde’s arm is slung around her waist. She links their fingers together and tucks their joined hands under her chin, close to her heart.

Betty can feel Veronica’s pulse hammering against her ribcage, and a part of her wants to crumble into dust, to fall apart and melt into the mattress, but she knows she can’t because that’s what Veronica’s doing right now and she needs someone to piece her back together, to stitch her parts back into something whole.

Her palm starts to tingle; Veronica’s fingertips are clumsily dragging themselves across the wine-red scabs.

Out of habit, she scrambles for an explanation, an excuse. “Things have been crazy lately,” She mumbles into the brunette’s hair, “Er, Polly-”

“Is this because of me?” Of course she knows; Veronica’s been tuned to Betty’s frequency since the moment they met.

“I-it’s not what you think,” Betty stutters; the last thing she wants is to give her another reason to feel terrible about herself. “It’s mostly because I just feel like-”

The remainder of her reply drops into her stomach and cracks, pops, and fizzles into oblivion; Veronica had just raised her palm to her lips and left a trail of four kisses across it - one for each scar.

She rolls around to face her, and the fireworks in Betty’s abdomen blaze on; the skin around Veronica’s eyes are red and puffy from crying all afternoon, her cheeks are flushed pink, her lipstick could use some retouching-

And Betty thinks she’s the most beautiful fucking thing she has ever seen in her entire life.

 _What about Jughead, you have him, he’s your boyfriend, he’s been there for you more than she has lately, you_ love _him_ -

The voice, probably her common sense, is _screaming_ to pull away, but the unseen force that compels her to close the distance between them is so much stronger.

It starts off shy, hesitant; Betty inches towards her, her eyelashes gradually fluttering to a close. She’s not sure if Veronica’s leaning in too, but when she feels the warmth of her lips against hers she can’t help but suck in a breath out of surprise. The brunette doesn’t think twice to kiss back, and she moves her hand upwards to cradle Betty’s cheek.

 _You’re_ cheating _on your boyfriend, do you realize that?_

The voice is growing quieter and quieter as she sinks into the kiss; she pushes herself up, her upper body hovering over Veronica’s, and rests her weight on her elbows. The brunette raises her other hand to press against Betty’s other cheek, fully grasping her face; they rest there for a few moments before sliding back towards her hair. Betty can feel Veronica’s fingers wrestling with her hair tie, and there’s a sudden rush of relief when she finally pulls it off. Blonde tendrils cascade downward, curtaining the face of the girl beneath them.

She’s soft, _so_ soft, and she tastes faintly of strawberries. Betty feels the smaller girl’s lips part against her own, and she can’t help but gasp again when the tip of Veronica’s tongue slides across her bottom lip, asking for an invitation. She complies, and something close to a mewl escapes her throat as she tries her best to keep up - but _Veronica’s tongue is in her freaking mouth again,_ and she likes this, she really does, she fucking _misses_ this and is so glad it's happening again, and her perfume is all she can smell, and she's sure her face is smeared with Veronica's lipstick right now, and there’s some kind of heat pooling in her hips, and her leg is unconsciously moving to settle in between both of Veronica’s, and-

Her phone vibrates.

 _What the_ hell _are you doing?_

“Shit-” She tears herself away instantly, shame prickling the corners of her eyes. What _is_ she doing? “I’m sorry, I-”

Veronica looks strangely calm. “No, it’s fine. You have a boyfriend.” Her face is stony, business-like, but there’s something about her tone that’s giving her away. She’s putting up a front. "It was wrong of me to..." She doesn't have to finish her sentence; the kisses she left on the blonde's hand might as well be tattooed onto her skin.

Betty bolts straight up and scoots to the far edge of the bed. She can't look at her right now. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know, and I get it.” She hears Veronica from somewhere behind her. The pang of hurt in her voice is ringing louder. “I’m not going to be your scarlet letter, B.”

Betty finally fishes her phone out of her jacket pocket. They’re texts from her mom; none are from Jughead.

“I should…probably go.” She begins to stand up, but Veronica’s hand catches her wrist. The contact pulls Betty back to just a few moments earlier, when they were tangled on the bed, and everything’s foggy and warm again.

“Don’t.” Veronica’s voice is achingly imploring, and Betty can already feel herself buckling. “Stay. Please. I promise it won’t get weird. I just…I need you here, Betts.”

She’s on autopilot; she texts her mom her whereabouts, and that she’ll be home late. She has a half a mind to text Jughead, but there’s no point in answering a question he never asked.

Why _hasn’t_ he asked, by the way?

She shrugs off her jacket and kicks off her shoes; she doesn't bother wiping off the lipstick. She’s back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

As soon as Veronica crawls back into her arms, Jughead becomes a distant memory.


	8. Birthday Party

You should’ve known better.

Jughead’s writing about Jason’s murder, for God’s sake - he sees _everything_ in this stupid town.

You can feel his eyes dissecting you as you and his girlfriend make your way towards his spot on the couch in the student lounge. He’s _still_ staring as Betty detaches herself from your arm to sit next to him.

This isn’t just paranoia; Jughead Jones is the Doctor T.J. Eckleburg of Riverdale - the silent observer, an expert at reading in between the lines. He’s nothing like Archie, who can’t interpret anything to save his life; Jughead has a knack for just _knowing_ there’s more to the story.

He _knows._

He knows why you always seem to know which class Betty’s in at the end of every day (So you can greet her before he can and offer to walk her to her locker). He knows about the way your eyes light up when Betty’s talking about something, _anything_ \- another clue to Jason’s killer, Vixens practice, a new piece she’s writing for the Blue and Gold, a lyrical suggestion for Archie’s newest song - and he _definitely_ knows what it means when your hands linger on Betty’s waist a few seconds longer than they should every time you part from a hug.

They’re subtle clues, but clues nonetheless, and Jughead has all of them sifting around in his beanie-constricted brain. He probably has something similar to his and Betty’s murder board propped up in there somewhere - a “Veronica Lodge is in Love with My Girlfriend and She’s Trying to Steal Her Away From Me” board.

It’s a little hard to tell, but he seems gloomier than usual today. Maybe he’s finally accepted it - who knows?

He mutters something about having to be somewhere, and he squeezes Betty’s hand before standing up to leave. His eyes dawdle on you, and his stare is so concentrated you’re quite sure you’re going to catch fire soon.

 _You’re not going to win._ He throws one last glare before shuffling away.

 _Challenge accepted._ You scowl at his back before he disappears behind the door.

Archie arrives and takes Jughead’s place on the couch. He looks at Betty, and she looks back, but you’re still staring at the doorway. You’re too caught up in your newly forged rivalry to see that they’re dreading what they’re about to tell you.

“Veronica.” Betty calls, and your head automatically turns and finds her because you’re a lovesick fool and anything Betty-related pulls and keeps you like the way gravity holds the Earth.

“There’s something we need to talk to you about.”

 

* * *

 

Later on, after you part ways, she’s _this_ close to smacking Archie when he tells her that tomorrow is Jughead’s birthday.

“What?!” She gasps incredulously, and Archie meekly goes on about how Jughead _really_ doesn’t want this to be a big deal, and how he just wants to go to the Bijou.

By the way - while this plays out, you’re in class mulling over what they told you earlier.

While you’re silently cursing Clifford Blossom and pretending to take notes, she’s internally lecturing herself for being so ignorant, so oblivious. How could she _not_ know her own boyfriend’s birthday? They’ve only been together for weeks, but they’ve been friends for _years_ and not once has she thought about it.

She grips the strap of her purse, because she knows if she isn’t holding onto it her nails will find a way to her palms.

It’s not her fault for not knowing, but you _know_ Betty Cooper - she’s going to take it like it is, anyway. It’s funny how much she hates the word _perfect,_ yet every fibre of her being strives to be so. Forgetting Jughead’s birthday burns an ugly mark onto her spotless record, and as she separates herself from Archie and ducks into the nearest empty classroom the gears of her brain are whirring at top speed.

She’s cooking up a plan to make this up to him, even though she didn’t really do anything wrong to begin with. As your teacher instructs the class to start solving the problems on page 346, she’s calling F.P. Jones.

But is she doing this for _him,_ or for herself?

You wouldn’t know; Reggie just tapped you on the shoulder and asked what you got for question two.

 

* * *

 

When someone says _don’t turn around,_ your first instinct is to turn the fuck around.

So when Kevin instructs the table not to turn around, of course you, Betty, and Archie swivel at exactly the same time to watch Chuck Clayton saunter into the cafeteria.

You can’t see Betty’s face, but you know what she’s feeling; you can see her fist shaking against her thigh, and you want to reach out and stroke the taut skin on her knuckles, you want to pry open her fingers and kiss those red marks until they disappear, but she’s already standing up and making her way over to him.

“Oh my God.” The words tumble out of you as Betty utters something to Chuck, something out of earshot.

You spot Chuck’s lips moving in some sort of reply, but it’s cut short; Betty _explodes_ with “I’m NOT-” but she lowers her voice immediately so everything is inaudible again.

You do, however, notice her fingers curling.

Ethel says something, and so does Chuck. Whatever he said causes Betty to back off, and she’s slowly returning - trancelike, if you may add - back to her spot next to you. Her eyes are the same kind of blank from that night at the pool house, and worry begins to prickle inside of you.

“What was he doing?” You ask the moment she sits down. “Accosting her?”

“No,” Betty shakes her head; her hands are still balled into fists. “He was…apologizing.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, I’m _so_ sure. Chuck Clayton doesn’t have a contrite bone in his muscle-bound body-”

“Y’know, can we talk about something else?” She interjects, desperate to change the subject, “Like Jughead’s surprise party.”

She glances downward, which means you do too. The tiny half-moon slits are shiny with fresh blood.

“Betty?” Your voice is tainted with concern. Those wounds are laughing at you again, reminding you that you failed your best friend, your soulmate, and the love of your life _again._

Her head snaps up and the way her expression seamlessly transitions from horrified to perfectly content almost scares you. It’s very rehearsed, and it’s a performance you’ve seen her do a million times, but it disturbs you nonetheless.

Betty eases back into conversation, and when Archie wholeheartedly agrees to throw Jughead’s party at his house the (Second) incident with Chuck is seemingly forgotten.

“Now you’re talking my language.” You grin, but you can’t help but notice the way Betty’s keeping her hands hidden underneath the table the entire time.

 

* * *

 

You’re too preoccupied with court dates, monthly payments, lawyers, and your mother’s reluctance to tell the truth to notice, but Betty’s eyes _never_ leave you.

It starts when you rush into the gymnasium, nearly an hour late for practice. Cheryl provokes you, big surprise there, but instead of closing the argument with your usual snappy remark you take up her challenge. You’ve been tested multiple times this week by a _lot_ of people, and you’re in desperate need of an outlet. Since Jughead’s party isn’t happening for another couple days, this dance-off will suffice.

The Blossoms have taken a _lot_ more from you and your family than you thought; Cheryl’s _not_ going to take this too.

The music begins to play, and your body moves like it has a mind of its own. Dancing’s something that comes natural to you; you don’t have to think about it too much, which is something you’ve been needing lately. You lose yourself to the rhythm, hips popping and limbs twisting and turning every which way.

It’s Cheryl’s turn now, and you bite your thumb in concentration as you watch her every move.

You should have glanced in the other direction.

Betty’s at the forefront of the group, nodding along to the beat. The grin on her face wasn’t this big when the competition started; with every move you made, it grew. Your moves watered her anticipation, which bloomed into excitement, happiness - she’s _proud_ of you.

While you battle it out with the redhead, the blonde standing a few feet away is giggling to herself; she likes the way your thighs look in those shorts, and she’ll never tell you (Or anyone, for that matter) this but she ogled just a little bit when you did that stomp-and-booty-shake thing.

Deciding that enough is enough, you jump right in the middle of Cheryl’s routine, and you can’t help but smirk at the shock on her face when you raise your hands at the exact same time she does.

It’s time for your big finish. You break away from Cheryl and go all out, ending by posing dramatically on the floor with your hand resting on your knee and your eyes staring intensely at the opposite end of the gym.

“All those for Cheryl?” Your eyes finally find Betty, whose smile is so wide it looks like it hurts. There’s a pregnant silence before she speaks up again. “All those for Veronica?”

When the Vixens erupt in applause, your cheeks heat up in embarrassment and you laugh sheepishly to yourself as you cast your gaze to the floor. You eye Betty’s shoes skipping over to your side, and when you glance upward to see the pure elation on her features your face gets even warmer.

Your eyes unknowingly dart down to her bubblegum pink lips and suddenly you’re back in your room, pinned down to your bed with those same bubblegum pink lips hovering just millimetres above yours. The smell of clean laundry wafts back into your senses and you can almost feel the smooth blonde locks of hair weaving in and out between your fingers. You swear you can feel the puffs of her husky breaths against your cheeks.

You force the memory to end, however; there’s still another hour left of practice, and there’s a whole new routine you still have to learn - a routine that _you_ are now in charge of, by the way.

It’s not polite to rub it in, but you were in dire need of a victory after being denied so many times lately. It feels good to actually win for once, and you’re going to ride out the high for as long as you possibly can - so you turn to Cheryl, who’s been pouting in the corner the entire time, and put on your best smirk.

“Never cross a Lodge.”

 

* * *

 

On the day of Jughead’s birthday you’re sitting in the tiny, stuffy office of your father’s attorney, struggling to grasp the fact that Daddy low-key threatened you into testifying on his behalf.

At the exact same time, she’s sitting in an old but cushiony chair at the Bijou, tucked underneath Jughead’s arm and sipping from an extra large cup of soda.

He’s attempting to wring out a few words about the confrontation she had with Chuck in the cafeteria, but she easily shuts him down. A part of you would have liked to see that. Another part of you would have told her to tell him the truth - because he’s her boyfriend and he deserves to know, blah, blah, blah. Generic best friend advice and all that.

But no one knows you better than yourself. The more dominant part of you would have chalked a giant tick underneath your name on the imaginary tally chart you’ve divided between yourself and Forsythe Pendleton the Third. 

> _Veronica: 1_
> 
> _Jughead: 0_

“What exactly happened between you guys that night?” He tries again. There’s something that isn’t rubbing him the right way. He knows that _that night_ was crucial and it somehow led to Chuck’s suspension, but he doesn’t know _how_ it happened and he really wants to know why. As a writer, an amateur investigator, and her boyfriend, he’s desperate to find an answer.

“Veronica asked me to keep the details under wraps, okay?” You wouldn’t have liked that she used you as a scapegoat, but another part of you - a part that you wish would just disappear already - would have been giddy at the fact that she’s keeping this a secret from him.

Okay, so maybe it’s kind of terrible that she’s keeping her psychotic breakdown a secret from her significant other. If you were there, you probably would have been more disgusted over the fact that you would have been _excited_ to know that she feels more comfortable talking about this with you over him.

But you aren’t there, so that never happens. Maybe it’s better that way.

Of course he knows she’s lying - she’s the worst liar on the damn planet - but he’s smart enough not to press the matter any further (If you were there, you’d be humble enough to give him credit for that).

The lights dim, and she jokes about being _all about the beast within_ as the film projector above them putters to life.

Oh, if he only knew.

 

* * *

 

You’re not exactly in a partying mood by the time you get to Archie’s, but you’re already here so you try to make the most of it.

After a hurried introduction with Kevin’s boyfriend - Joshua, Jacob, José…you can’t remember his name for the life of you right now but you honestly don’t care - you barrel into a full-on rant to Kevin about the bullshit with your dad and how he and his lawyer are ruining everything.

Before you can get into the juicy details, however, Ethel announces it’s time to quiet down; Betty and Jughead are making their way towards the front door.

 _Betty and Jughead._ Not exactly what you want to be witnessing right now, but it _is_ the boy’s birthday so you should be a good sport.

“I’m so over this.” As the rest of the group scrambles to find a hiding place, you kneel in front of Fred Andrews’ liquor cabinet.

The door swings open, and you hear everyone yell “SURPRISE!” as your fist closes around the neck of a bottle of cheap rum. You sigh, making a mental note to come back to this later, and relinquish your grip so you can stand up and give your greetings to the man of the hour.

You’ve never seen Jughead look so uncomfortable before, and that’s saying something because he _always_ looks uncomfortable. There’s a look in his eyes that tells you that he really doesn’t want to be here right now, and you want to kick yourself for relating to that. You’re supposed to _hate_ him, for God’s sake. You’re rivals, aren’t you?

“Feliz cumpleaños, Torombolo.” You smile at him, but the both of you know you don’t mean it.

“Thanks, Veronica.” You don’t even know if he understands what you said, but you step away from him and into the background, where you belong. You watch as Kevin and Justin, or whatever the hell his name is, give their greetings, and then-

“Has anyone seen Betty?”

It’s like a scene straight out of a John Hughes movie: The dark room warms up with a soft orange glow as she rounds the corner from the kitchen with a hamburger-shaped cake balanced on her hands. The flames from the candles are dancing in her eyes and her lips are moving slowly, crooning _Happy Birthday_ in a voice so soothing you could fall asleep to it. Her blue-green irises are alight with love, with adoration, with a fondness you’ve never seen before. She’s never looked at you that way.

You take a second to glance at Jughead, and it’s the expression on his face that makes you realize you can’t take this anymore.

He looks mesmerized, in disbelief, like he can’t believe this beautiful girl is approaching him with a cake shaped like his favourite food, singing to him with a voice so loving and soft, a voice she has never used on anyone else but him. He looks like he’s about to melt, like he’s about to melt _into her_ and her hands are the only things capable of holding him together. _Love_ or something like it is growing inside of him, and you hate that it’s happening to _him_ and not _you_. 

> _Veronica: 1_
> 
> _Jughead: 10???_

“Blow out the candles; make a wish.” Betty exclaims as you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hurry out of the room before Jughead obeys her commands, and you barely make it to the kitchen sink before the tears start to fall.

You hate that you can’t hold in your pain. You blame it on your father, his stupid attorney, your mother and her endless secrets, Riverdale and its constant barrage of misfortune, but at the end of the day you’re the sore loser crying in your friend’s kitchen because you didn’t get the girl.

“Veronica?” Archie, of all people, is the only one who notices your absence. Archie Andrews, Captain Oblivious, senses that there’s something wrong. If your sadness is apparent enough for Archie to notice, why hasn’t anyone else?

When he asks if you’re upset about your dad, you give him a flimsy excuse - that it’s just _the tip of the iceberg_ and you don’t want to talk about it. That’s when he offers you a drink, and for the first time that evening you notice the pungent smell of alcohol lingering on his clothes. He’s been pre-gaming long before you came here, and you’re a little envious. You want to catch up with him. That bottle of rum sitting in the living room is practically _begging_ for you to return to it.

You figure out why he’s been drinking: His parents are finalizing their divorce. The last thing you need is another reason to hate your mom, but he assures that Hermione has nothing to do with this. He then goes into a spiel about being forced to choose between them, and there’s something about what he's saying that resonates within you.

You don’t know why, but you begin to tell him about how your father threatened you into making a statement on his case. You never talked about your father with Archie, not in this way at least, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel like it’s okay to trust him. The anxiety racks up inside of you as you continue with your explanation, and you’re realizing you’re making less and less sense: What if your mother isn’t as innocent as she claims to be? What if your father’s lying about your mother being guilty? What if he’s involved with Jason Blossom’s murder? What if-

A pair of hard, but gentle arms encircle you and suddenly the world steadies itself and holds still. You’re not spinning anymore, and your thoughts aren’t buzzing around your head like a swarm of angry insects. Archie Andrews is holding you against him, your cheek pressed against the planes of his chest, and for a moment everything feels right, like it’s supposed to be this way. He reeks of booze but his hand is rubbing the small of your back and you sigh and take this in - because what if this is all you’re going to get? What if this is the best things are going to be?

Jughead walks in and scares you apart, but the confusion on his face says it all.

“Sorry.” He mutters, but the both of you know he doesn’t mean it. _Are you admitting defeat?_ His eyes are on you, but you can’t meet them right now so you stare at the floor.

“Just coming to get ice cream.” Betty jogs in after him, completely unaware of what’s happening. It’s like her and Archie switched places. “Is everything okay?”

 

* * *

 

As you finally reacquaint yourself with that bottle of rum, and Cheryl and Chuck invade your little soirée and mutate it into a house party worthy of a Judd Apatow movie, she’s in the garage with her boyfriend trying to understand where he’s coming from.

 _I’m weird,_ He’s spitting out his words like venom, and they sink under her skin and pollute her veins. _This is the_ last thing _I would want._

 _You did this for you, to prove something._ He’s not wrong there, and she knows it. She glances downward as the guilt overtakes her. Her hands are clenched by her sides, and for a second her mind takes her back to that night when you shared a booth at Pop’s and you grabbed her wrists at just the right time.

If you were there, you would have done something. You would have told him off, told him that _of course she’s trying to prove something, because you fucking act like nothing she does is good enough for your self-loathing ass,_ but you’re not there so you can’t. Instead you’re sulking in the corner of the living room, sipping your mixed drink as you watch Cheryl make out with yet another member of the football team.

When you accidentally find out that the sketchy Serpent guy your mom was whispering to in a dark damp alleyway is actually Jughead’s father, she’s getting lip from his son about how their relationship is on borrowed time.

 _Does it ever occur to you just how different we are?_ As he’s raving on about how she’s _a cheerleader, for God’s sake,_ as if that’s so horrible and it’s the worst thing that could have ever happened to her, she’s standing there, taking all this in, letting his words slice her open and bleed out on the floor before him.

You wouldn’t have let this happen if you were there.

He enunciates each word, his voice gradually hardening.

_You’re the PERFECT. GIRL. NEXT. DOOR._

If he knew any better, he would have known how much she hates the word _perfect…_ oh, but _you_ know. You know all too well. You know how that word haunts her at night, taking away a piece of her little by little - how she’s at a point where she doesn’t know where _Betty_ ends and where _perfect_ begins. You know that if it were possible, the word _perfect_ would be burned onto every single inch of her, marring the marble white skin of her arms and her thighs and her shoulders and her chest and everywhere else, stamped onto her so many times you can’t even see the letters anymore.

You don’t know it, and there’s a good chance you never will, but she’s thinking of you as he continues to tell her how they’ll never work out. She’s wondering if you feel the same way he does. She’s wondering how much different this argument would be if you were in his place.

 _I’m not one of your projects,_ he says. Of course he’s not, he’s her boyfriend - but he’s not listening. He’s too wrapped up in his insecurities to see the tears welling up in her eyes. He’s too caught up in his perceived fear of being Archie’s stand-in that he can’t hear the way her voice cracks when she attempts to fight back.

As she turns to leave him in his misery, she’s wondering why people get so confused when she says she hates the word _perfect -_ because it’s so obvious that when people use that word in junction with her, they’re using it to hurt. To insult. To degrade.

Betty Cooper is _perfect._

And that’s not a good thing.

 

* * *

 

The alcohol in your system throws you into a hazy fog, and you struggle to recount the night’s events. You remember Cheryl initiating a game of some sort, and you played that to your advantage by accusing her of twincest - something you’ve been _dying_ to do for weeks now.

But, of course, Cheryl finds a way to one-up you, as usual - and she spills the details about your father buying out the Twilight. Dilton Doiley even chimes in, outing Archie's relationship with Grundy. Then Chuck makes things worse by talking about that night in Ethel’s pool house.

The next thing you remember, Chuck and Jughead are suddenly wrestling on the floor, and F.P. ( _What the hell is a grown man doing at a high school house party,_ you briefly wonder) has to wrench them apart. You vaguely remember him yelling at everyone to go home, that the party’s over.

And now, you and Archie are sitting alone on the couch, bonding over your mutual feelings of inner turmoil towards your family. You open up to each other about how you feel like you destroy everything you touch, how you always manage to make things worse even though all you really want to do is fix them. You want things to get better, but the opposite keeps happening and you don’t know what to do with yourself anymore so you just let it happen. You let the mess unfold, you watch things unravel, you allow the train wreck to happen.

“Why do I keep doing this? I keep wrecking things.” He says, and you feel your heart leap because _finally,_ someone’s saying something that you can relate to.

You feel a sob rising in your throat as you tell him how much you wish your mother was innocent, and his eyes soften. He wants to help, but he’s just as drunk as you are and his thoughts aren’t much clearer. What he knows for sure is that the boat he’s in is sinking rapidly, but at least you’re there with him. At least you’re there sinking right alongside him.

He’s not what you need right now, but he’s all you have.

“I’m messed up, Veronica.”

And so are you, so that must mean you’re perfect for each other.

He leans in and kisses you. You return it for a moment, but suddenly you’re seeing blue eyes and blonde hair and you rip yourself away from him. Your eyes are wide and fearful; for some reason, his are too.

Is this right? Should you be doing this?

He knows what you’re thinking. _She can’t find out._

You don’t know why you need to keep this a secret, but the both of you decide to anyway.

_No, she can’t._

This time, it’s you who leans in first.

 

* * *

 

As you and the redhead collapse into one another, she’s sitting in a booth with her boyfriend at Pop’s.

Jughead’s pushing her hands together, and he cups his own around them before gingerly kissing her knuckles.

He didn't say sorry. He didn't say he would do better next time. He didn't say he would try to improve. He didn't take back any of the things he said - but he's kissing her, and that's good enough, right?

As his lips graze her skin, she’s remembering how you left a kiss for each scar.

Four.

He’s only giving her one.

> _Veronica: 5_
> 
> _Jughead: 10_

 

* * *

 

You can’t see his hands because it’s so dark, but you can feel them on you. They’re strong, but cold against your skin. You shiver when you feel his fingertips ghost along your thighs.

His lips break from yours to whisper in your ear, breathless. “Remember when you asked me if I’ve ever felt whatever I was supposed to feel towards her with anyone else?”

You quirk an eyebrow, even though you know he can’t see it. “Do you _really_ want to talk about that right now?”

You feel his hair brush against your shoulder as he shakes his head. “I mean…I told you that I felt it this past summer, with someone else-”

“With your _teacher,_ Archie.”

“-Yeah, but then I asked _you_ if you ever felt that way, and you said that you might’ve felt it once before. D'you remember that?”

You stop breathing. “Yes.”

His lips move against your shoulder as he speaks. “Who were you talking about?”

And it hits you like a smack to the face: The smell of clean laundry, the feel of soft blonde hair spilling all over your hands, the taste of vanilla, eyelashes tickling your cheeks, the bumps of her scars under your thumbs when you reach for her hands.

In all honesty, you don't really know who you were referring to when Archie asked you that question all those weeks ago (Maybe Katy? But that's another story for another time) - but now, you think you have a solid answer.

“I don’t think it matters anymore.” You reply in a flat voice, and when your lips return to his the conversation abruptly ends and you resume… _whatever_ this is supposed to be - only this time there’s a hesitance to his body language, like he knows there’s something you’re not telling him.

Archie may not be the most attentive person in Riverdale, but you’re sure a small part of him knows who you’re thinking about.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, you wake up feeling like someone’s trying to drive a nail through your skull. You realize you’re waking up in Archie’s _bed_ , and panic sweeps over you for a moment, but when you see that your clothes are still on you will yourself to calm down.

You glance over to your right and find Archie asleep on the floor. Did _you_ take off his shirt, or did he do that before he fell asleep? Regardless, it was sweet of him to give up his bed for you. You crouch over him, plant a soft kiss on his forehead as a silent _thanks_ , pick up your heels, and tiptoe out of his room. You can’t help but smile to yourself; at least the night didn’t end as terribly as you thought.

It’s not the walk of shame, but it feels like it is - and the _shame_ part becomes even more pronounced when you descend the stairs and find Jughead at the bottom.

“Veronica.” He looks surprised, but his eyes are telling you a different story. “Hey. Morning.”

 _I know what happened._ His gaze stops momentarily on your awkward, lipstick-free smile.

“Morning…Jughead.” You try your best to sound cordial. You can’t talk your way out of this one, and the both of you know it. “Um, so listen-”

He surprises you with a smile of his own, but there’s nothing friendly about it. It looks more…crafty. Scheming. “Don’t.”

As long as you and Archie have a secret to keep, Betty is off-limits. He knows this, and so do you. You’re trapped.

He won.

He sips his coffee before throwing you another grin. He knows there’s nothing you can do. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

You force yourself to laugh.

_You win...for now._

“Okay. Cool.”


	9. Homecoming

The spotlights above her head paint her silvery dress in the full spectrum of the rainbow, but that’s not what she’s looking at right now.

“What the hell?” She squints through the darkness and the loud music, trying to focus on the trio whispering to each other on the opposite side of the gym.

That shock of red hair is unmistakable, and aside from Cheryl Blossom _who else_ in this town can afford a dress that looks like… _that?_

Did they only _just_ get in now? Where have they been this entire evening? What are they doing with her _mother?_ What are they even talking about?

She flips back and forth between her memories like the footnotes in her articles.

(Read: That one morning in the Blue and Gold office. Betty’s trying to convince her best friend _and_ her mother that there’s no reason for any of them to go against Jughead’s word. F.P. had nothing to do with the murder, end of story. Why were they finding it so hard to trust him?)

Her face contorts with confusion and anger. She feels betrayed, though she has no concrete evidence to prove that she actually was _(Hm, that sounds vaguely familiar)_. Maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding. Maybe they only _look_ suspicious, but the thing they’re actually talking about isn’t. Maybe.

Archie’s suddenly gone, but Veronica hangs back for a moment, and for some reason that hurts even more than when Archie was still there. She’s angrier now, but she doesn’t know why. Archie would make total sense: He’s been her friend since the dawn of time, so shouldn’t it be worse if _he_ was the one who stayed behind, rather than Veronica?

(Read: Veronica breaking down in the girls’ change room at school. Betty’s the only thing holding her together.

Read: Veronica kissing the scars on Betty’s palms. The sensation of her lips skimming across her skin is like electricity jumping in her veins.

Read: Veronica’s face, flushed pink and millimetres below Betty’s. She tastes like strawberries.)

This doesn’t make any sense. None of this does.

Determined to straighten this out, she steps forward - but she’s quickly interrupted by the mayor and her principal, because of course this would happen to her.

“What can I do for you, Mayor McCoy?” She forces herself to smile and tries to think of a quick and easy way to end the conversation without looking rude. She thinks she can hear the mayor say something about an _internship_ _opportunity_ , but thoughts concerning her future and career aspirations aren’t what she’s thinking about right now.

All it takes is one movement: She glances over Mayor McCoy’s shoulder, and it happens just like that.

Suddenly the music stops. The coloured lights stop whirring around the room. The distracting _blah, blah, blah_ of several conversations happening at once is no longer buzzing in her ears.

Time freezes.

Suddenly it’s just her and the brunette standing at the opposite end of the room.

Blue-green irises lock onto brown ones. Veronica’s face is stony, but she knows her well enough to tell when she’s hiding something.

(Read: Veronica showing up late to Vixens practice. The rest of the squad pays no mind, but Betty notices every detail - like the way Veronica subtly raises her hand to yawn into it when Cheryl isn’t looking, or how the dark circles under her eyes are still sort of visible despite the expertly applied extra layer of makeup.

Read: Betty trying to overcome the sudden desire to repeatedly kiss the skin under Veronica’s eyes until those dark circles disappear.

Read: Betty failing so hard at trying to overcome that sudden desire that Cheryl adds a snarky, “If Ellen here didn’t spend so much time ogling Portia every practice we probably would have nailed this routine _weeks_ ago” when she missteps for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes.)

Alice reaches out to touch Veronica’s arm, and it’s enough for the brunette to break her stare and the little moment - If that’s what you really wanted to call it - they were sharing. Time resumes, and the noise and swirling colours all rush back.

Her mother says a few more words, and Veronica’s gone, strutting in those stupid designer heels towards Archie - who is now speaking with Jughead, and that only makes her even more annoyed.

“Would you walk me up?” Mayor McCoy interrupts her again, but this time she doesn’t have time nor the desire to be cordial.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“To the stage.” Weren’t they talking about an internship, or whatever? She doesn’t know anymore, but she could care less.

She mutters something about Principal Weatherbee doing the honours instead and makes a half-assed excuse about having to be somewhere.

“Where were you guys?” It feels like ages before she’s finally able to reach them.

“We stopped-we stopped at Pop’s.” She and Archie are probably competing for the title of Worst Liar in the History of Mankind. He should’ve left the excuses to Veronica; at least she’s more convincing when she spins stories.

“And what were you just talking to my mom about?”

Veronica knows she isn’t going to let this go until she gets a straight answer. Her head is bent slightly, possibly to hide the obvious guilt shadowing her features, and she’s peeking through her eyelashes - an attempt to look cute, perhaps? An attempt to break her down to reduce the severity of the lecture she knows she’ll be getting soon?

(Read: The surprise flowers - “The yellow’s for friendship” - waiting for her in the receptionist’s office. The adorably wide, goofy grin stretched across Veronica’s lips when she walks in and catches Betty adoring them. The way Betty forgives her without a second thought, almost like it’s a reflex.

Read: Betty forgiving her a second time a few days later at Pop’s. One look at that grin and she is reduced to a puddle on the diner’s tiled floor. She’s putty in this girl’s hands, willing to be moulded and shaped into whatever she wants her to be. It’s impossible to stay mad at Veronica Lodge.)

“Betty…”

“Guys, can we table this? We gotta get ready.” Time was on their side for now. Archie begins to make his way towards the stage, and Veronica obediently follows.  “C’mon.”

Jughead strides over to her, rightfully confused. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him what she’s thinking; he was in such a good mood earlier, and that’s rare for him - especially lately, when the entire town seemed hellbent on hating his family. It would be wrong to spoil that.

She sucks in a deep breath, shrinking her shoulders as she does so, and mentally counts to ten before slowly exhaling. She needs to let this go for now. There will be another opportunity to confront Archie and Veronica. Despite what just happened, they’re still her friends, and they’re about to perform - and she’s really looking forward to that, seeing as she missed the variety show.

Enjoyable evenings have been scarce lately; she needs to seize this.

 

* * *

 

 _Kids in America_. Appropriate choice. It’s nice to see Archie loosening up on stage with his guitar, knowing that performing in public is a challenge for him - and Veronica’s singing is as perfect as she knew it was going to be, because she knows that Veronica never does anything with even the slightest hint of imperfection.

She’s standing amongst the crowd, bopping her head and swaying to the beat. She spots Fred Andrews busting a move not too far away and she tugs on Jughead’s sleeve so he can see. They both share a laugh, and it’s like the previous hour never happened; suddenly she’s just a teenager at her high school homecoming with her boyfriend, laughing at their friend’s lame dad. Things are normal. Things are okay. Things are good.

But like all of the good things in her life, this doesn’t last long.

Veronica prances across the stage, bright lights spilling all over her, and reaches out to tenderly stroke Archie’s cheek before playfully pushing him away.

_Huh, that was weird._

And now these strange little details are all she can see. Their eyes linger on each other a lot longer than they should. Veronica is alarmingly touchy; if her hands aren’t feeling Archie’s cheek or his bicep she’s pressed up against his back or brushing her fingers across his shoulder. Sometimes they lean in so close that she swears they’re going to kiss.

 _What the hell?_ She asks herself the second time that night. She unconsciously moves closer to the stage, her hands balled up against her sides. Her fists grow tighter every time she catches Veronica touching him.

(Read: Betty fighting to keep her cheeks from burning up every time Veronica’s eyes find hers. There’s something arresting about the way the brunette looks at her but she can’t find the right word to describe it: Hungry? Longing? Curious? It could be all three at once.

Read: Betty’s skin rippling in endless waves of goosebumps whenever Veronica touches her. That’s never happened with anyone else before - not even Jughead, whom she’s supposed to be more attracted to…since y’know, he’s her boyfriend and all.

This is going to be a problem.)

She might be overthinking this (Again). Veronica’s flirty by nature and it isn’t out of the ordinary for her to be touching people when she interacts with them - and she’s also performing on stage right now. This could be an act.

But even the possibility of it just being an act still bothered her. She doesn’t like the idea of Veronica sensually gliding her fingers across anyone else’s cheekbones, even if it was just for pretend.

(Read: Betty’s fingernails digging into her palms as she watches Veronica comfort a crying Cheryl in the change room. Why does the thought of Veronica giving her time and attention to someone else hurt so much?)

How long is this goddamn song? How much longer does she have to stand here and watch this?

Veronica makes her way towards Archie’s microphone. The way she leans in - her back arching all the way so that her chest is nearly pushed against his, her fingers curling around his arm and trailing down towards his wrist, her head tilted perfectly so that her lips are inches from his before teasingly pulling away with an impish grin, how she peeks at him from under her long eyelashes - forces her fists to clench even tighter. Her nails are white hot against her palms, searing into them and forcing the skin apart.

 _You don’t get to feel this way,_ A voice nags, _You made your decision. You chose someone else. You’re not allowed to be hurt. You’re not allowed to be angry._

But she’s hurting and angry anyway, so what does that mean?

(Read: Betty’s phone vibrating, prompting her to pull away and break the kiss. She thinks she enjoys kissing Veronica Lodge more than kissing Jughead Jones, and she doesn’t know how to process that.

Read: Sitting with Jughead at Pop’s late at night. He gathers her hands in his own and presses his lips to her knuckles, but all she can think about is how Veronica noticed her scars first - and how she left _four_ kisses instead of just one.)

 

* * *

 

Forget the first kiss.

Forget the flowers.

Forget the milkshakes.

Forget Ethel’s pool house.

Forget the second kiss.

Forget _everything._

Highly concentrated waves of hatred crash into her and wash away all traces of… _whatever_ it is she felt for Veronica before all of this happened.

So she was right - they _did_ go behind her back. She should have seen this earlier, especially with how awkwardly that dinner with her dad and F.P. went. She should have known that was just a cover-up.

Now Jughead’s gone, and it’s all _their_ fault. Now Jughead _hates_ her - just when things were getting better between them. He thinks he _betrayed_ her; he lumped her in with the other two and didn’t give her a chance to explain.

It’s supposed to be them against the world: The misunderstood weirdo from the wrong side of the tracks and the perfectly imperfect straight-A student, fighting the odds together and proving everyone wrong. That’s how it’s supposed to happen, right?

 _To think I was gonna pass on moving to Toledo with my family for you._ Somehow this hurts more than the dozens of insults he hurled at her that night in Archie’s garage.

Archie, whatever. She’s disappointed in him, that’s for sure - he’s supposed to be Jughead’s best pal, after all - but she’s not sure he’s wholly to blame. He’s definitely not the mastermind behind this; he’s more of an accomplice.

She expected him to be on her and Jughead’s side - and he always was, up until Veronica came along. Ever since she moved to Riverdale the dynamic between the three of them has never been the same.

She lost her boyfriend _and_ her oldest friend, and Veronica’s to blame.

(Read: Veronica Lodge strutting into Pop’s in a cloak and stilettos, immediately stealing Archie’s attention and leaving Betty aghast and dejected.

Read: Cheryl forcing Archie and Veronica into the closet with a knowing smirk on her painted red lips. Betty bunches up parts of her skirt in her fists but the fabric is too thin so her nails bite into her palms anyway.)

You can take Veronica Lodge out of New York but you apparently can’t take New York out of Veronica Lodge.

Of course her justification for breaking into F.P.’s trailer would have something to do with her dad. Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn’t revolve around her and her stupid family. Just because _her_ father is in prison doesn’t mean that someone else’s has to be too. Maybe this is her sick, twisted way of initiating friendship with Jughead; they can bond over their daddy issues together.

Since when does Veronica ever think about anything that wasn't about herself?

(Read: Veronica cutting Cheryl down to size during Vixens tryouts because she was trying to “Bully Betty into being a bitch”.

Read: Veronica wiping Betty's bloodied hands with a towel and instructing her to breathe as they sit together in Ethel's pool house.

Read: All the times Veronica sneaks a glance at Betty’s hands when she thinks she isn’t looking - “Just in case,” She sheepishly admits one day when Betty casually asks about it - and how Betty’s heart skips a beat whenever she catches her.

Read: Veronica immediately picking up her phone at some ungodly hour in the late evening/early morning to listen to Betty babble on about the latest thing she and her mother quarrelled over.

Read: Veronica shyly leaning over to whisper, “Did you remember to take your pills earlier?” into Betty’s ear when she meets her by her locker every morning before homeroom.)

Veronica Lodge moving to Riverdale just might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to her.

“I’m not talking to you-” She glares at Archie for a moment before shifting to Veronica, “-either of you, ever again.”

Archie’s standing there, seemingly unfazed, but Veronica’s eyes are wide and a muscle in her jaw twitches ever so slightly. The brown in her irises are glazed over and her eyelashes are quivering; she’s willing herself not to cry.

And that knee-jerk reflex kicks in at the sight of this: She wants to rush over, take Veronica’s hands in her own, and profusely apologize. She wants to take back what she said. She wants to say, “No, no, I didn’t mean that at all, I’m so sorry, of course I want you in my life, you’re so important to me, please don’t cry, V”. She wants to lean in and kiss her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, every inch of her face until the tears are gone. She wants to wrap her arms around that small body and melt into her warmth. She wants to sit her down at the closest booth and order their usual milkshakes and laugh it off like this was just some dumb misunderstanding.

“It’s about Jughead.” Archie pulls her back to reality, and Veronica says something about Sheriff Keller finding a gun in the trailer despite her and Archie claiming they searched every nook and cranny.   

Veronica’s eyes dart downwards, but she isn’t going to give her the satisfaction this time; she pulls her arms away and crosses her wrists behind her back, where the brunette can’t see. She suppresses the urge to smirk when the shorter girl frowns.

She pictures the both of them in F.P.’s trailer.

Together.

Alone.

They were more than an hour late to homecoming, after all.

And just like that, Veronica becomes the bane of her existence all over again. 

 

* * *

 

Archie’s phone rings, and her heart leaps. “Is that him?”

He squints at his screen. “It’s Veronica.”

 _Oh._ She drops her gaze to her shoes.

The volume on Archie’s phone is loud enough for her to eavesdrop on their conversation. Veronica called _just to talk._ Do people still do that? This isn’t the ‘80s.

The fact of the matter is that Veronica’s lonely and she wants company - and out of all the people she could have chosen, she chose him. Archie Andrews.

(Read: "I'm not talking to you, _either of you,_ ever again.")

It's barely been a couple hours since that confrontation at the diner; is she already regretting her decision?

She can’t help but longingly eye the phone in Archie’s hand. She craves the lazy drawl of Veronica's bored, unimpressed voice complaining about her mother and the mess surrounding her father's incarceration. She wants to hear about Veronica's problems, she wants to be the one keeping her company, she  _should_ be the one Veronica chooses to call late at night when she's lonely.

There’s a painful clenching sensation in her chest. This isn’t supposed to be happening; she’s supposed to _hate_ Veronica. Jughead’s disappearance is all _her_ fault. Her relationship is in jeopardy because of Veronica’s selfishness.

Yet she finds herself asking, _Why him and not me?_


	10. Dreams of Normalcy

She doesn’t remember where she first heard this, but it’s a quote that stuck with her for years:

_There are things you can’t get anywhere, but we dream they can be found in other people._

That’s what Archie used to be to her - a dream. Delusions of a typical high school sweetheart romance where the football player is dating the cheerleader. Pipe dreams about a picturesque wedding in a church bursting with flowers, and she’s in a dress so white it could burn your retinas if you stared too long. Daydreams revolving around a perfectly manicured lawn, a shiny new car sitting on the driveway, kids with flame red hair and bright green eyes.

Dreams are tantalizing because they aren’t true. It’s the chase, the desire for them to come true that make them so desirable in the first place - and that’s why Archie loves her now.

He only wants her when she’s out of his reach, and that is not enough.

“We’re both so lucky, don’t you think-” Betty’s never been a good liar, and neither has he. They both know this. “-To have found the people that we were meant to be with? And that we’re all friends.”

But when she goes to bed and closes her eyes at the end of the day, she isn’t dreaming of a boy with a funny beanie and tired blue eyes - in fact, she isn’t dreaming of a _boy_ at all.

Because even though she doesn’t want to admit it, she can’t help but shake the feeling that she hasn’t found the things she’s been searching for in him either.

“Who would’ve thought at the beginning of the school year…?” She trails off, uncertain where to go from here.

“Yeah,” Archie grins, and he looks halfway back to his usual self: Boyish, cheery…but there’s something missing. She used to be in his position. She knows how much it hurts. “Who would’ve thought?”

 

* * *

 

Everyone’s expected to go back to normal now that Jason’s murder is no longer a guillotine hanging over their heads (For the most part) - but that’s where Veronica’s stuck, because she’s not exactly sure what her version of normal is supposed to be. Unlike everyone else, she doesn’t have a “pre-murdered Jason” setting to dial back to, and reverting to New York Veronica is out of the question. Even her mother has something to work with, since she grew up in this town.

 _Stick to what’s expected,_ She tells herself, _Do something you know you’re supposed to be doing._

So she opts for some “girl time” with Betty after Vixens practice, because that sounds normal enough. They sit in the blonde’s pink room and do each other’s nails. Predictable, stereotypical, _normal._ Everything’s going according to plan.

But when it’s time for Veronica to paint Betty’s nails, things are far from normal. She takes the taller girl’s hand in her own and her thumb unknowingly brushes against the hard scabs raised against her palm; Betty responds with a shaky sigh and Veronica swallows hard. The brunette drops her hand like it’s on fire and her eyes desperately search for something to stare at - a lamp, a bookcase, anything.

Those wounds felt like they were just recovering from another relapse. They’re recent - but what could have caused it? Her mind reels to the mess that was homecoming, and guilt threatens to swallow her whole.

“S-sorry.” The blonde breaks the silence, chuckling nervously. “Caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“You’re fine.” Veronica wills herself to look at her; Betty’s cheeks are splotched pink, and she’s sure her own cheeks aren’t far off. “Er, maybe we should start with a pedi.”

For the first time since they’ve met Veronica feels awkward around Betty, and that’s definitely not normal.

_Stick to what’s expected. Do something you know you’re supposed to be doing._

So she brings up Cheryl relinquishing her title as Head Bitch In Charge for the Vixens, because that’s a perfectly normal topic for them to discuss. Betty bites the bait and they ease back into their normal routine - the one where they harp about how weird Riverdale is. It’s a lot easier pretending that this is what their version of normal looks like.

After praising Betty’s latest Blue and Gold article Veronica brings up the subject of boys, because that’s what she’s supposed to be talking about with her best friend when they’re doing each other’s nails. That’s the normal thing to do.

“At the risk of us failing the Bechdel Test, are you legitimately cool with Archie and me? Swear on the September issue?”

This is what they’re supposed to look like. Betty and Veronica. B and V. Best friends. Friends who, despite the numerous ups and downs (And there have been _a lot_ of those), stick together no matter what. Friends who paint each other’s nails while gushing about their boyfriends. Friends who definitely aren’t avoiding their obvious mutual and certainly non-platonic attraction for each other.

Betty’s smile is wide, but it’s hard to read. Veronica can’t tell if it says _I’m totally cool with you dating someone who isn’t me_ or _The thought of you kissing someone else kills me on the inside but I’m willing to put up with it if it makes you happy._

“And on my copy of Forever by Judy Blume.”

Veronica smiles back, because that’s what’s expected of her. It’s what she’s supposed to do.

It’s normal.

 

* * *

 

Southside High looks like a bad Freedom Writers spoof: There is a lot of frayed denim, black leather, vibrantly dyed hair, tattoos, and septum piercings. A part of her is half-expecting someone to flick open a switchblade and snap their fingers.

They veer towards the cafeteria, very aware that they stick out like a sore thumb; kids eye them suspiciously as they brush past them in the hallway. “There.” Archie nods towards the familiar crown-shaped beanie, but when they finally reach the person they’ve been searching for the scene that unfolds before them knocks Betty back like a punch to the stomach.

Jughead… _laughing._ In a school cafeteria. With people - a _lot_ of people. People who seem to be enjoying his company.

His voice, tinny and distant from the pay phone he was using earlier, echoes in between her ears.

_This is where I belong._

Her hands begin to curl into fists.

Jughead says something she can’t hear, and the entire table erupts in a fit of obnoxious laughter. The guy sitting on the table - not _at_ the table, _on_ it - is banging on the surface so hard with his fist that the glass on his lunch tray shakes. One long-haired fellow is laughing so much he has to hold onto Jughead’s shoulder to keep himself from falling off his seat - which just so happens to also be _on_ the table.

What was that quote again? It had something to do with dreaming about finding things we can’t find anywhere else in other people…

What if _she_ was his dream - his impossible fantasy that he can never hope to grasp or claim for himself? What if _this_ \- this group of haggard strangers in a dingy high school cafeteria on the bad side of town - is what he’s been searching for this entire time, and he’s finally accepting it? She’s never seen him look this happy and comfortable before - not around Archie, not even around her.

So does this mean the both of them dreamt they could find what they wanted in each other, and they ended up being wrong? What if the things he said to her that night at his birthday party were true after all?

She can hear his voice getting fainter, quieter, farther away.

_Please don’t worry about me._

“Jugs.” Is all Betty can bring herself to say. She can feel the sting of her fingernails against her palms.

It takes awhile for him to register that she, Veronica, and Archie are standing behind him. When he finally turns around, his forehead crinkles with confusion. For a second she thinks he forgot who they are.

“What are you guys doing here?”

 

* * *

 

Veronica gives them space, because that’s what a best friend is supposed to do. She pulls Archie by the arm and they loiter by the sidewalk while they wait for Betty and Jughead to finish their conversation.

There’s an awkward silence that falls between them, though she knows it isn’t supposed to be this way. They’re dating now, they should be more comfortable with each other - though the word _dating_ still feels foreign on Veronica’s tongue.

It’s not that she doesn’t think Archie is sweet, because he definitely is, and he’s been there for her countless times when she didn’t think she had anyone - but there’s something…strange about their dynamic, like maybe this isn’t _exactly_ what they’re supposed to be doing.

But it’s the normal thing to do, right? She has a boyfriend. Betty has a boyfriend. They’re all friends. This is how it’s supposed to be.

So why doesn’t it feel that way?

Veronica glances upward and notices that Archie’s half-turned away from her. He’s looking at Betty and Jughead, who are embracing a few feet away. How long has he been staring?

Before she knows it, she's staring too. Betty’s arms are wrapped around Jughead’s middle; there’s a serene smile on her face, and her eyelashes flutter to a close when she moves to rest her chin on his shoulder.

She should be happy for them, because that’s what’s expected of her. She should be happy that her best friend is in love with someone who loves her back.

“They’re each other’s soulmates.” She finds herself saying, and Archie turns to face her. “Good for them, don’t you think?”

That comes out a lot more bitter than she wanted it to, but Archie doesn’t seem to mind because his expression mirrors her tone. He looks disappointed, and she should be upset with that, but she’s not. Instead, she finds herself sympathizing with him. They’re _both_ disappointed.

This isn’t going according to plan. This isn’t protocol. This isn’t what they’re supposed to be doing.

“Archie,” She forces a playful lilt to her voice in a feeble attempt to brighten the mood. “What is it?”

The redhead looks sullen, and again she knows she should be hurt by this but she isn’t. His eyes drop to the ground and he looks uncertain, like he’s having trouble figuring out what to say, but she knows. Archie Andrews is as predictable as he is sweet.

He’s gradually beginning to understand that maybe, just maybe, he loved Betty all along - and of course he would only come to the peak of this realization when she’s unavailable. It’s a story she’s seen countless times before in books, on movies and television, and during her years at Spence.

And there it is - the pang of hurt begins to throb in the dead centre of Veronica’s chest, but she knows it’s not because she just realized Archie’s in love with someone else.

She’s hurting because she just realized they’re both in love with the same person, and neither of them can have her.

“Ronnie…” He finally speaks up, but his sentence peters out and it’s back to awkward silence.

She likes Archie, she really does, and she’s sure he likes her too - but they’re forcing a square peg into a round hole. They know it doesn’t belong here, but they’re trying to make it work anyway.

Because this is normal. This is what’s expected of them. This is what they’re supposed to be doing.

She’s relieved when her phone lights up with a notification but her eyes widen when she reads Cheryl’s text. This isn’t the distraction she was hoping for.

“We have to go.”

 

* * *

 

Betty’s beginning to wonder if Jughead ever takes that damn jacket off. She’s seen him without his _beanie_ more often.

They make a promise to see each other every day after school, but it’s not the same. He becomes more and more closed off, even more than he was before; he’s strangely insistent that they _don’t_ hang out at his foster parents’ place, and every time she asks to meet his new friends he comes up with a half-assed reason why that isn’t such a good idea. He’s also a lot busier, especially in the evening; she’s gone many a night staring at her phone, wondering when or if he’s going to text back, and when she asks him where he’s been the next day he always replies with something vague or evasive.

And another alarming change about him: He hasn’t been writing as much. Electronic devices are strictly prohibited at Southside High so he can’t bring his laptop with him, and he spends so much time with his new crew that it’s often left untouched on his spare time.

She still can’t forget the way he looked when he slipped into that worn leather that night (A night that still has a _to be continued_ tacked onto it, by the way - continuing it at her place is out of the question since they’re never alone there and when they’re at F.P.’s the Serpents have uncanny timing and keep finding the perfect moment to walk in just when they think they finally have the night to themselves) - how the blue in his eyes flickered with excitement as he pushed his arms through the sleeves, the way he tugged on the lapels and grinned to himself when he realized it was a perfect fit. It’s like that part in Cinderella when everyone found out that the glass slipper fit: He was meant to wear this jacket. He was a Serpent. Always has been.

There’s no hiding it: Jughead’s sudden attachment to the Southside Serpents is indicative of his lifelong deprivation of a collective he can proudly associate himself with. The irony isn’t lost on her either - the family he’s been desperately searching for has been under his nose the entire time. F.P.’s unfortunate situation gave him what he needed: A place to belong, a place where he felt like he could be himself. He found his home.

And Betty’s unsure how she fits into all of this, or if she does at all.

“We’ll make it work,” Jughead insists; they’re in F.P.’s trailer, sitting on the couch, and of course he’s wearing the jacket. “We’re just in a weird transitional period right now. It’ll smooth out.” He runs a hand through his jet black hair, which is currently beanie-free. She would’ve found this attractive if she wasn’t so unsettled. She wants to say that this exponential surge in confidence is the one benefit of him joining the Serpents, but even that rubs her the wrong way - because it’s not the kind of confidence that feels right to her. He’s cockier, too sure of himself, and it comes out all wrong.

Despite it all, she tries to smile for him and leans into him for a kiss, hoping they can finally pick up where they left off - but there’s a knock on the door. Yet another interruption.

And, like always, Jughead leaps at the sound like a dog eager to greet his owner after a long day of separation. He opens it by a crack - he always does this when she’s around - but she knows who’s on the other side, because his eyes light up and his lips tilt into a devious smirk.

And just like that, he’s gone again. He’s out of her reach, like Archie once was.

Jughead’s dream has finally come true, but it isn’t with her. Suddenly she’s back on Archie’s doorstep. She’s back to where she was before, where her heart gets broken by a boy who doesn’t know how to properly care for it. The only difference is that Jughead told her he loved her back. He made her believe that she was what he was searching for.

Her hands rest on her lap, and she doesn’t even resist when she watches them tense and ball up. As Jughead laughs, fully immersed in conversation with the Serpent at the door, Betty’s fingernails sink into her palms. When Jughead steps outside, softly closing the door behind him, her skin is shiny with freshly drawn blood.

She lets it trickle down to her wrists before she finally gets up to wash it off in the kitchen sink.

 

* * *

 

“How about the Bijou?” Veronica suggests. They have a free period and they’re sitting in the music room. “They’re doing a Marlon Brando double feature tonight - not that I need to go to a movie theatre to fulfil my daily ‘Rugged Hunk in a Tight Shirt’ quota-” She hopes that would elicit a smile from him, but it fails and she awkwardly clears her throat. “-Uh, but I just…I figured it’d be nice if we went out for a change.” She pauses for a moment before adding a hesitant, “And I think it would be good for you.”

She watches him listlessly strum his guitar. All of the chords he’s playing are minor ones. “I don’t really feel like it.” His voice is low, toneless, very un-Archie, but it’s what’s expected of him at the moment. It’s been a week since Fred got shot and he’s still in the hospital. It’ll be awhile before he’s healthy enough to come home.

“Okay, then I guess we can just stay in…again.”

This is how it’s been for the past few days. It’s a routine they’ve fallen into: Veronica suggests something fun and distracting, Archie shoots her down, and then they end the day with their clothes thrown on his floor and their bodies tangled together between his sheets.

She hates that it’s come to this, that the only interaction they really have between each other anymore is nothing more than physical. Their first time was wonderful - everything was in its right place, they were happy, and it gave her the hope that maybe this can work out after all. Maybe there is something real between them. Maybe they aren’t in this relationship just because the person they really want to be with isn’t available - but then Fred Andrews gets shot by a masked assailant the next morning and the magic is gone. A part of her gets frustrated sometimes and blames Fred for letting this happen, but she always feels terrible about it when she does. Fred didn’t ask to get shot, and she would never wish such a thing on him. This is probably just another case of terrible Lodge Luck - because since when can Veronica have anything nice?

The rest of the day crawls by, but they manage to make it to the evening. Archie’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and he’s so quiet she’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

Veronica never knows what to do when they get to this point in their routine. She knows leaving early isn’t an option, since it’s obvious being alone isn’t what Archie needs right now. Talking to him isn’t a possibility either; she might as well be speaking to a wall. She gives up and joins him on the bed, scooting close so that her leg bumps against his - a reminder that she’s still there, that she exists. As expected, he doesn’t react. His shoulders are slumped, his eyes are empty, and his lips are stretched into a thin line.

Archie Andrews is a pile of jagged shards on the floor and Veronica Lodge is cutting her hands trying to piece him back together.

This is what normal looks like now.

“Veronica?” He isn’t looking at her when he says her name.

“Yes, Archiekins?”

There’s a long stretch of silence before he speaks up again. “Remember when your dad hired a bunch of guys to wreck some stuff at my dad’s work because he found out about the affair?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“Didn’t you say your dad’s company is trying to buy my dad’s company out?”

She ended up telling him the truth the other day, and she even added how her mom wanted her to use her sexual prowess to get him to talk to Fred into getting bought out; she thought it could be something they can laugh about together, since it’s so ridiculous. He didn’t laugh, of course - didn’t show any hint of emotion - but at least it’s out there in the open. If they’re really going to give this relationship thing a try she’s going to make sure there aren’t any secrets kept between them.

Secrets worth telling him, anyway.

Still, she has an uneasy feeling about the direction this conversation is heading in. “I’d rather you get to the point instead of drawing this out, Archie. What exactly are you trying to say here?”

“The day…” He begins to move his hands, like he’s trying to say something through the motions. “The day _it_ happened - the only reason why my dad was at Pop’s that morning was because he wanted to meet me there, and when he wants to meet me at Pop’s that usually means he wants to discuss something important.”

It doesn’t take long for Veronica to put two and two together. She leans away from him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. “Are you trying to tell me that my father arranged for _your_ father to get shot? From what you told me, the gunman was accosting _Pop_ first. If Fred really was Daddy’s target why would he get his hired gun to harass Pop _before_ getting the job done - and how would he even know that your dad would be at Pop’s that morning?” She rolls her eyes. “I know my dad isn’t perfect, his slate is _far_ from clean, and I’m honestly having a little bit of trouble accepting that I’m actually sticking up for him right now, but he _just_ got out of jail, Archie. I highly doubt he’s raring to go back.”

“I know, but I’m just saying that it could be a possibility.” She glares at his reply, and he sighs. “I just…” Archie shakes his head before burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything. I didn’t mean to accuse your dad. Things have just been really, _really_ hard. Mom’s holed up in Chicago with work and she’s trying to come here as soon as she can, but-”

Guilt douses the flames of her anger. Veronica moves, trancelike, towards him, placing a hand on his cheek and turning his head so they’re facing each other. “It’s fine.” She says, though she knows that’s far from the truth. It’s the only thing she can say, because this is what’s expected of her. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. It kills me that I can’t do anything to help.”

Archie’s eyes meet hers, but he has no reply. He kisses her instead, and she kisses back because this is what she’s supposed to do. He’s hurt and alone and desperate for answers - and she knows she can’t give him what he needs so she’ll do the next best thing and give him what he wants. She throws one leg over his lap so she’s straddling his hips, and he moves farther back on the mattress so that his back is pressed against the wall. Her fingers are mussing up his hair, making it stick up and out in every possible angle. His hands are running along her thighs, slipping underneath her skirt.

Archie pulls back a moment, possibly to say something, but she takes his face in her hands and kisses him again. When they kiss, they don’t have to talk, and that’s what makes it bearable.

This is what her version of normal is now. This is what she has to force herself to get used to.

 

* * *

 

It starts with a text at one in the morning on a school night.

Betty feels around for her phone in the dark - she’s gotten into the habit of falling asleep with it because she doesn’t know when Jughead’s next text will come in - and when she finds it her eyes widen in surprise. The incoming message isn’t from him, but another person she’s been aching to talk to.

_U awake?_

Betty’s thumbs go straight to work. _Yeah. Is everything okay?_

Immediately after the text sends, her phone begins to vibrate.

“I don’t mean to be dramatic - alright, maybe I _kind_ of mean it - but I think the universe is collapsing inwards and I need my best girl to save me from collapsing with it.” Despite the fact that Veronica sounds like she hasn’t slept in days, Betty’s chest swells at her voice. The words _best girl_ reverberate in between the rungs of her ribcage.

She chuckles, wordlessly motioning for Veronica to continue, and that’s when the brunette dives headfirst into her situation with Archie. The past couple of weeks have been hectic for the both of them, so they haven’t been able to keep tabs on each other as often as they wanted. The strain in Veronica’s voice gives Betty the impression that she’s really stressed, and she can’t blame her; Archie’s been reduced to a ghost of the person he once was ever since that incident at Pop’s - and he has every reason to feel that way, but it’s weighing down on Veronica and he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Not to mention her father is coming back to Riverdale in a few weeks and the blonde knows she isn’t looking forward to that either. Archie should be there for her, but he isn’t; no one really knows where he is right now, mentally speaking.

Veronica talks, and Betty listens, and the more Veronica talks the more Betty’s chest hurts. She’s beginning to feel like maybe her dilemma with Jughead isn’t as bad as she thinks it is - in comparison to how Archie’s been with Veronica, Jughead sounds like the perfect boyfriend - and guilt begins to take over. The hand that isn’t holding her phone begins to twitch.

“I miss you.” The words suddenly roll off Betty’s tongue, right in the middle of Veronica’s spiel, and her eyes widen at the spontaneity of it all. Her free hand closes into a loose fist as her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Her heart begins to pound when she’s met with a fit of silence. She counts the seconds in her head, and she reaches seven when Veronica finally speaks up. “I miss you too, B.” There’s a faint rustling sound, like she’s shifting around in her bed. “You have no idea.”

There’s a hint of longing in the way she says _you have no idea -_ either that or Betty’s grasping at straws. Either way, it causes an uncomfortably large lump to magically appear in her throat. She opens her mouth to speak, but she has no idea what to say.

Thankfully, Veronica continues, but what she says next only makes the lump in Betty’s throat larger. “Stay on until I fall asleep?”

Her free hand slowly begins to unfurl. “S-sure.” She rolls on her side and sets her phone down by her head before turning on the speakerphone. She watches it intently, like she’s expecting it to come to life, and when she hears Veronica’s breathing she closes her eyes and smiles. The weight of fatigue finally begins to press down on her and before she knows it she’s out like a light, dreaming of waves of black hair and warm brown eyes.

They do this every night now. It’s the only way the both of them can get to sleep.

 

* * *

 

They quickly settle into a new version of normal together. Finding excuses to ditch their boyfriends for each other is incredibly easy, since Jughead and Archie have been especially non-attentive lately.

She hears Betty snort, and she glances up to glower at her. “What’s so funny?”

“We’ve known each other for months and this is the first time I’m seeing you with _those.”_ The blonde points at her with the eraser end of her pencil. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

Veronica huffs as she pushes the lenses farther up the bridge of her nose with her index finger; the gesture only makes Betty laugh more, and the brunette rolls her eyes. “Since I was eight, and I only need them when I’m reading something for an extended period of time - like these blasted notes, for instance.” She flips through several pages of Betty’s handwritten Biology review, shaking her head in disbelief. “How do you _not_ have carpal tunnel? Why don’t you just type stuff out like a regular millennial?”

“Because I find that it’s easier for me to retain the information when I handwrite them.” The blonde answers in a pinched voice; she’s obviously trying to contain more of her laughter, and Veronica can feel her cheeks getting warm. “Don’t worry, I’m not laughing _at_ you.”

“I find that extremely hard to believe.” The brunette deadpans.

“I’m not!” Betty insists, though her face says otherwise. She clears her throat and her eyes drop to her binder; the hand holding her pencil begins to doodle. “You…you just look really good in them, that’s all. It’s kind of cute.”

If she wasn’t blushing before, she’s definitely blushing now.

“Girl, I look good in everything.” She quips before attempting to return to her studying.

(After this incident, Veronica makes sure to wear her glasses every time they have a study session.)

 

* * *

 

Their peals of laughter ring clear through the onslaught of rain. Betty pulls Veronica with one hand and shields her eyes from the downpour with the other; the mud and grass squelch noisily under her shoes as she tries to find shelter for the both of them.

“I’m surprised you didn’t come prepared.” Veronica chimes when they finally find a tree with a thick enough canopy to keep them from getting any more wet.

“My phone said it was going to be clear all afternoon!” The blonde exclaims in protest, though the corners of her mouth are still turned upwards. “Plus, this was _your_ idea.” She kicks her voice up a couple octaves. _“Let’s ditch the Uber and walk home instead, B! Ooh, can we cut through the park? I wanna ride the swings!”_

The shorter of the two scrunches up her nose. “Is that what you think I sound like?” Her bottom lip juts out in a pout, and Betty’s eyes are immediately drawn to it. “For someone so outwardly sweet you can be cruel when you want to be.”

Betty rolls her eyes, and when Veronica chuckles she can’t help but join in. She forgot how easy it was to be around her, and how much she missed it. Jughead and Archie being too busy in their own worlds came with a surprise benefit: B and V have more time for each other, and both girls jump at every opportunity since they’re the only things in each other’s lives that aren’t utterly depressing.

It dawns on her on just how _happy_ she’s been lately, and how Veronica is the source of that happiness. She fills in the spaces Jughead leaves behind with something warm and wonderful. It almost feels _too_ wonderful, and a part of her fears it’s too good to be true - like a dream; another unattainable, farfetched fantasy that will be ripped away from her at any given moment.

Veronica’s shoulders begin to tremble, and she wraps her arms around herself; her jacket (Betty can’t remember if it’s Burberry or Montcler; either way she knows it’s way out of her price range) looks thick enough to guard her from the worst of the cold, but it’s completely soaked through. Her breath is coming out in little white clouds, and the blonde is sure her mouth is tinged blue underneath that dark red lipstick. Betty unbuttons her peacoat and begins to shrug off, but the brunette intervenes. “Don’t you dare, Betty Cooper.” When the taller girl glances at her in confusion, she throws her a sly smile. “I have a better idea - and it’ll keep us _both_ warm.”

Veronica moves in, closing the space between them, and slips her arms around Betty’s waist under the heavy wool of her coat. The shorter girl’s forehead is aligned perfectly with Betty’s lips, and the blonde tries not to think about it as she forces her arms to hug her back. Their difference in height is so staggering that Veronica has to crane her neck a little bit to look at her. Her eyes are a lot larger up close, and the brown in her irises are easier to see.

Sometimes Betty forgets how beautiful Veronica really is, and every time she remembers it knocks the wind out of her. It’s like every time is the first time.

“Thank God for waterproof mascara, huh?” Her breath is warm against Betty’s neck. Damp onyx tendrils of hair cling to her cheeks, and droplets of rain hang from her eyelashes.

_Thank God for Veronica Lodge._

“How is it that you’re still so tiny even with those heels?” Betty hums against the smaller girl’s hair. She’s a lot warmer now, but she isn’t sure if it’s because Veronica’s idea is actually working or if it’s because her entire body is bursting into flames at the mere fact that she’s _pressed up_ against Veronica.

The brunette somehow steps in closer; Betty wasn’t aware there was any space left between them. The deep red of Veronica’s lips is agonizingly close, and the blonde can feel the lump in her throat growing. “I’m travel-sized for convenience.” Those red lips curl into that familiar kittenish grin, and it makes Betty’s heart skip.

Chortling at the stupid joke, Betty unknowingly tilts her head downward, and her forehead bumps against Veronica’s. The smaller of the two moves back slightly in surprise, and the ends of their noses graze against each other. Their laughter quickly hushes, and suddenly they’re staring at each other in silence.

The blonde’s pulse thuds in her ears; she can feel her heart crashing against her ribs. Veronica’s hands move from her waist to the lapels of her coat, bunching the sopping fabric in between her fingers-

And a crack of thunder tears through the sky, forcing the both of them to turn their heads away from each other and towards the source of the noise.

Veronica is the first to say anything, though Betty can’t help but notice that she’s still holding parts of her coat in her hands. “As much as I enjoy _not_ getting pelted by rain, standing underneath a tree during a thunderstorm isn’t the safest idea.” She turns to face the blonde, and their noses nearly touch for the second time. Her voice is smooth and casual, like the last five minutes never happened. “I vote we catch an Uber to your place so I can steal your clothes and drink all of your hot chocolate.”

The brunette’s cheeks are pink, though Betty isn’t sure if it’s from the cold or if it’s because they nearly kissed for the third time. Either way, the mental image of Veronica wearing her clothes is making her think things she shouldn’t be thinking about.

“S-sounds good to me.”

 

* * *

 

She calls Archie less and less, and their texts get shorter and shorter, but neither of them seem to be too upset about it. A part of her knows what this means, and another part of her thinks she should just bite the bullet and tell him it’s over already - weeks of one-sided conversations and meaningless sex are really taking their toll on her - but for some reason she keeps telling herself to hang in there, to just keep going for another few days, because _another_ part of her still thinks this is what she should be doing. This is what’s expected, and this is what her version of normal is supposed to look like. Archie’s just going through a lot right now, and he needs time to figure things out on his own. That doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t care about her anymore, and it would be unfair to leave him when he’s like this.

At least that’s what she keeps telling herself.

“V?” She turns to face the pair of legs sticking out from underneath a beaten car that looks like it might have been from the sixties. “Can you reach into the toolbox real quick and hand me the flathead?”

“The _what_ now?” She asks dazedly, still struggling to pull herself out from her thoughts.

The wheels on the creeper squeak as Betty rolls out from her spot under the car; her forehead and cheeks are smeared with grease, but Veronica finds it weirdly endearing. “Remind me why I asked you to be my assistant.” She chuckles as she stands up and shuffles to the toolbox sitting on the nearby bench. She’s just about to settle back down on the creeper when she glances at the brunette again, her eyebrows knit together with concern. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Just mulling over problems of the ginger variety, nothing new.” She lowers her gaze to her lap and smooths her hands over her skirt, forcing herself _not_ to gawk at how surprisingly attractive Betty looks in a ratty t-shirt and tattered jeans - both of which are smothered in car gunk. “Has Jughead talked to you lately?”

Betty lies flat on the creeper and pulls herself back underneath the car. “Not any more than he usually does, which is scarcely.” The blonde sounds sour, but rightfully so. “I feel like we’ve hit a dead end, or something. We’re not moving or going anywhere. We’re in each other’s lives, but that’s it. We just…exist.”

“I hear you, girl.” Veronica lets out a churlish bark of a laugh as she gets up from her stool to lean against the side of the car Betty’s working on. “Look at us, complaining about our men like a couple of surly housewives.”

Betty wheels herself out again; she glances up at Veronica from where she’s lying, grinning from ear to ear. The white t-shirt she’s wearing is nearly grey from all of the grease smudged on it. Veronica knows she shouldn’t find this appealing - because ew, car grease - but she does, and she kind of hates herself for it. “Should I break out the merlot and queue up Sex and the City on Netflix?”

The smaller of the two laughs. “Sure, and then I can tell you how I’m planning to ditch my husband for the pool boy.”

Betty’s grin widens, and Veronica wants nothing more than to crouch over and spread kisses all over that grease-stained face, but she knows she can’t. Relationship slump or not, Archie is still her boyfriend, and despite her sordid history in New York cheating is one of the few atrocities she didn’t commit - and she would very much like to keep it that way.

But is it considered cheating if your boyfriend is perpetually out to lunch, mentally speaking? He’s just… _not there._ He never is anymore. It’s not fair that she’s forced to stick with someone who isn’t giving her the attention and affection she needs - and what’s even more unfair is that she’s standing a couple of feet away from someone who’s been spoiling her with both, but she can’t be with her either because she’s _also_ in a relationship with a neglectful boy.

 _Of course it’s still considered cheating,_ Her conscious chides, _Stop tempting yourself. You’re only making this worse. Archie’s your boyfriend whether he knows you exist or not. It’s non-negotiable. Deal with this like a grownup and talk to him first._

But that’s not possible right now, partially because Archie never talks anymore and partially because she feels guilty for leaving him during his time of need. And it’s not like she can just ask Betty to leave Jughead either; that’s a decision the blonde has to want to make on her own time.

They gaze at each other, both pairs of eyes soft with an unspoken understanding. The fact of the matter is that the both of them have been not-so-secretly pining for each other way before Archie and Jughead got involved, but their timing sucks and neither of them initiated to move forward so now they’re stuck in a situation where they can look but not touch.

This is their version of normal. This is what they need to get used to, but it’s been months and neither of them want to conform to it even though they know they have to.

The corner of the blonde’s mouth twitches in a small, almost dissatisfied smile for a split second before she disappears underneath the car. The brunette crosses her arms and lets out a sigh.

Knowing that the feeling is mutual somehow makes it hurt worse.

 

* * *

 

Bedrooms usually reflect the taste of their inhabitants, but every time Betty steps into Veronica’s room she has a hard time agreeing with that. The soft pastel lavender on the walls is a stark contrast to the brunette’s bold dark wardrobe, and for someone who regularly acts like she wants to forget about her past in New York she sure has a lot of photos on her walls and dresser that say otherwise.

The biggest surprise, however, is the low but long mahogany bookcase that runs along the wall underneath her window. It’s filled with classics - Fitzgerald, Capote, Tolstoy, Vonnegut, Austen, Faulkner, just to name a few - and there are a few volumes in Spanish and Portuguese. It’s no wonder Veronica’s chock full of outdated pop culture references and sports a vocabulary way too advanced for a sixteen year old: She’s a semi-closeted bookworm.

Betty absentmindedly fingers the petals of a purple orchid sitting on top of the bookcase before kneeling down to inspect some of the titles. As her finger traces the spine of a rare edition of The Grapes of Wrath she pictures a younger Veronica up late at night underneath the covers with a book and nothing but a flashlight to guide her, and she giggles to herself. So _that’s_ why she needs glasses when she’s reading.

“Why do I always find you here every time I leave you alone in my room for more than five minutes?” Veronica reappears from the en suite bathroom decked out in her usual blue silk pyjamas.

Betty shoots up to full height and shamefully tugs at the drawstrings of her flannel shorts. “I dunno, I just find it interesting how you read all of these. I don’t even think Jughead’s read some of them.”

“Well, he needs to get on my level.” The shorter girl grabs the taller one by the wrist and tugs her to the bed. “C’mon, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Ryan Phillippe are waiting for us.”

It’s the weekend before Hiram comes home and Betty’s staying over for moral support - _support_ meaning, “Eating junk food and watching cheesy nineties movies on Netflix for two straight days”. Veronica has Cruel Intentions loaded on her laptop and there’s a bowl of popcorn sitting on the bedside table.

Betty slips underneath the fluffy down comforter and twists around so she can reach for the popcorn. When she lifts the bowl off the table she notices the book hiding underneath; the title’s in Spanish, but the author’s name is vaguely familiar, and her brow furrows as she tries to remember where she’s heard of him before - in fact, she’s trying so hard she doesn’t even notice Veronica pulling the bowl out of her hands.

 _“El amor en los tiempos del cólera.”_ Veronica pipes up, and when Betty quizzically blinks at her she lets out a quiet laugh. “Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez.”

“Now I remember where I heard that name from.” The blonde nods. “I think Polly’s mentioned this book before.”

“I’ve read it in English a billion times but it was initially published in Spanish; Daddy bought me an original copy when he visited Columbia a couple years back and I’m only getting around to reading it now.” Veronica sets the popcorn aside and leans over Betty’s lap to reach for the book. “It’s one of my favourites.” Then, with a shy smile, she adds, “It’s also a very important plot device in Serendipity, which just so happens to be one of my favourite movies.”

The taller of the two chuckles. “Why, Veronica Lodge, I would’ve never pegged you for a romantic.”

The brunette rolls her eyes before opening the book; she flips through a few pages before stopping on one. _“Todavia era demasiado joven para saber que la memoria del corazón elimina los malos recuerdos y magnifica los buenos, y que gracias a ese artificio logramos sobrellevar el pasado.”_ She glances up from the book, that reticent smile still hovering over her lips; Betty’s utterly mesmerized by the Spanish that just passed through said lips. “He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.”

Images of Jughead flash behind Betty’s eyes: Jughead riding the bus with her to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, Jughead climbing through her window, Jughead staying up late with her at the Blue and Gold, Jughead kissing her hands at Pop’s, Jughead’s eyes softening after she tells him she loves him. 

_He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past._

More images begin to file in: Jughead yelling at her in Archie’s garage, Jughead running away during homecoming, Jughead calling her from Southside High, Jughead wearing his Serpent jacket for the first time.

“The book compares love to a contagious disease that drives people crazy and causes a lot of physical and emotional pain.” Veronica’s voice brings her back to the present. “In many ways, it’s true. I think that’s why I love it so much.”

“If love is a disease, then I must be terminal.” Betty mutters, and she can’t help but smile when the smaller of the two laughs. Making Veronica laugh is a privilege granted to a very small, select group of people - and Betty is honoured to have been chosen.

“You should read it sometime - it’s a few steps up from Nancy Drew. I can lend you my English copy, if you’d like.” Veronica momentarily hops out of bed and skips over to her bookcase. She’s back seconds later with a well-worn tome in her hands; she wasn’t kidding when she said she read it a billion times.

“I’d love to.” Betty smiles and reaches to take the book from her. Their fingers brush momentarily; Betty begins to pull back, but Veronica’s already holding onto her wrists. The book tumbles out of her hands and lands on the mattress with a soft _thud_ as she allows the brunette to pry her fingers open, exposing her palms. Veronica’s touch is soft and tentative, and every stroke across Betty’s skin pushes hoards of electric pulses through her veins.

She watches as Veronica’s fingertips dance along the arcs of the wounds on her palms - they’re an angry dark red, signs of a recently opened cut. Her eyes flicker towards the brunette’s face for a second, and they soften when she notices the look of concern.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica’s words are barely a whisper.

The blonde raises her eyebrows. “For what?”

“For not keeping you from this.” She gingerly glides over the cuts a second time, and Betty winces. “I promised you I’d help, and I’ve only made things worse since then.”

“You’re not the reason why this is happening - at least not right now.” The taller girl reassures.

The brunette pauses and takes a deep breath, like she’s preparing herself for something. “That night at Pop’s when you said you were never going to speak to me again…” Veronica’s voice is somehow even quieter than before, and Betty has to lean in to properly hear her. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was like the last time you were really angry with me - I could see the rest of my life just passing me by, and it sucked because you weren’t part of it.” Another pause. “Then you hid your hands from me because you knew I would be checking to see if you hurt yourself, and I just _lost_ it. I felt like I truly failed you, and I…it was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I was going to lose you right then and there, and it was all my fault.”

Betty blinks rapidly, as if that would somehow get her to make sense of what she just heard. Her heart begins to bang against her ribs, and she’s praying to whatever god is listening that her palms don’t start to sweat.

Veronica swallows before meeting Betty’s stare. The brown in her eyes looks brighter for some reason, almost like they’re glowing. She shakes her head, her hair majestically swinging around her shoulders, and a sad chuckle escapes her lips.“I didn’t know what I was searching for in a person until I met you, Betty Cooper.”

_There are things you can’t get anywhere, but we dream they can be found in other people._

But this isn’t a dream.

The blonde’s eyes begin to sting, and her jaw drops slightly as she realizes what’s happening. Her pulse is still drumming against her chest, but there’s an ache to it now. Her fingers move on their own, fitting into the spaces between Veronica’s. “We’ve…never really just been friends, have we?”

“No, I don’t think so.” The smaller girl replies, scooting closer. Their knees bump against each other, and Veronica raises their joined hands to her lips. She kisses all of Betty’s scars - eight kisses in total - before letting go so she can cradle her face. The blonde’s eyes flutter to a close as she drops her head to touch Veronica’s forehead with her own.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Betty murmurs. Her eyes are still closed but she can feel the warmth of Veronica’s touch on her cheeks and she sighs. She wants to sit like this for the rest of her life.

“I don’t know.” The brunette replies softly, and the ache in Betty’s chest crescendos.

Loving Archie hurt because he was just across the street. Loving Jughead hurt because he always slipped out of her grasp the second her hands enclosed around him.

Veronica is right where Betty wants her but she _still_ can’t have her, and that’s what makes it hurt so much more.

But Betty leans into her anyway, and she kisses Veronica despite knowing she isn’t supposed to do anything more than dream about wanting to do it - and Veronica kisses back, and she lifts herself up to sit on Betty’s lap and wrap her legs around her waist because that’s what she wants to do even though she knows this isn’t what’s expected of her.

The smaller of the two runs her hands downward, flattening against the blonde’s chest and pushing gently so that she lies down against the mattress. Weeks - no, _months_ of craving each other pour out in between them, and there aren’t any buzzing phones to interrupt them this time (And even if one of their phones went off they probably wouldn’t answer it anyway). Veronica’s hands streak through Betty’s hair, and Betty’s fingers teasingly dip underneath the brunette’s silken top to ghost along the sensitive skin of her ribs.

 _“Por fin,”_ Veronica gasps against Betty’s lips, and it sends ripples down the blonde’s spine. She rolls Veronica on her side so that they’re lying next to each other, never breaking from their kiss as she does so. She squeezes the brunette’s hips and she can’t help but grin into her mouth when she gasps again.

They finally pull apart many minutes later, their chests heaving, their shirts riding far up their stomachs, and their faces matching shades of red. Betty pulls Veronica closer to her, bumping their foreheads and the tips of their noses together; the smaller of two takes the taller girl’s hands and kisses the scars on her palms over and over.

They both know what they just did, and they aren’t sure what they’re supposed to feel about it yet. Guilt? Fear? Excitement? Confusion? Jughead and Archie are still their boyfriends. Fred Andrews is still in the hospital. F.P. Jones is still in jail. There’s a long lost Cooper brother somewhere out there in the world. Hiram Lodge is coming home soon. Riverdale is still full of terrible secrets - but what Betty knows for sure is that she doesn’t want this to just be another dream she cannot make true, and Veronica knows she wants this to be their new version of normal.

They just don’t know where to start.

“I…” The blonde trails off, her forehead creased with uncertainty.

“We’ll figure it out,” The brunette whispers back before kissing her palms again. She raises one hand and cups it against the other girl’s cheek. “But for now, let’s just enjoy it - whatever this is. Whatever we want it to be.”

And so they do just that. Betty kisses Veronica, and Veronica kisses Betty. They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss until they fall asleep with their lips millimetres apart and their limbs tangled together.

They’ll figure it out eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote Betty can't seem to remember is from Twin Peaks.
> 
> See you in Season Two.


End file.
